Letters to Yesterday
by OooodlesOfNooodles
Summary: Illumi Zoldyck was the first born son to Silva and Kikyo Zoldyck. He was the heir destined to uphold the legacy laid out before him. He was also the first disappointment of the Zoldyck family to throw it all away. Long ago, he met a boy, for who he would throw it all away, time and time again. Maybe Illumi would have known better if he knew it would all end in tragedy. (IllumiXOC)
1. The Heir

A/N: Okay, after months of keeping this fic in storage, I'm finally releasing it now LOL The fic takes places before canon, in which Illumi is being trained to become the heir of the family business. Along the way, he meets a zoldyck butler named Oz and yeah, they fall in love, and yeah, it ends tragically :D I want to thank my best of friend's Yui for giving me the confidence to finally release this sucker after hiding it for so long. I love you honey! *hearts* Welp, enjoy the sad tale of the first born son of the zoldyck family. (trigger warnings at the bottom A/N note.)

* * *

_To Oz: _

_When we met my life first began,_

_Soon afterward, yours ended._

_I'm sorry._

_From: Illumi_

* * *

**Present Day**

The cellar was dark and damp.

Dark with nothingness.

Damp with blood.

It was cold, and the floor left a scraping and callous feeling on his bare skin. It reminded Illumi of being left too long in the snow. Needles pricking persistently at him. Sharper than a thousand serpent's fangs piercing his skin in the endless bitter cold. The cold left his heart barren, and his hands craving the warmth of a touch he would no longer feel. Aching for what was forever lost.

In his arms where Oz laid. Silent. Motionless. Mangled.

Dead.

Illumi couldn't see, but he felt all the evil and wretchedness etched onto the boy's body as it sagged in his arms. He felt the lashes, the eyes of the one who once gazed upon him beneath his fingertips. He felt the cheeks of the one whose complexion was once ripe as a budding rose. His hands trailed down at a slow pace, as if stuck in sludge, to the arms of the one who once embraced him tight. To the place where his palms used to be of the one who once held him tenderly. The one who once cherished him. The one who once adored him. The one who once loved him.

The one who is now and will forever be nothing more than a lifeless corpse.

_I did this to you._

Illumi's form quivered. The shock, the pain, the realization—the regret—sunk in. Fast. His back arched forward, weakly, as if he was a wind-up doll that needed its key to be spun again and again to move, to act, to think—to live. But there was nothing left in Illumi. Just as there was no longer a trace of life in the corpse.

_I did this to you. _

Illumi's heart turned bleak and into ash. It crumbled and withered like a plucked rose. A beauty that once radiated with a brilliant and shimmering light, now festered in this haggard, despicable age. Petal-less. Leaf-less. Lifeless. Disgusting.

No one with a changed heart is ever the same. No one _can_ be the same with a blackened heart.

The wind from the vents moaned. Whispering shrieks. Whispering cries. As if the ghouls and ghosts of the manor joined together to revel in his misery, gorging themselves in this darkness that swelled and festered in this rotten hell hole—just like the corpse.

It was then that Illumi finally understood The Zoldyck's Curse. To which he never believed, until now.

To be loathed, hated, scorned by a Zoldyck—no. Above all things, it was far worse to be _loved _by a Zoldyck. His love—their love—stopped Oz's heart.

Illumi's breath hitched. His lungs ached.

He locked his arms around the corpse—around Oz, and yowled a sad and lonely cry.

_My love for you broke my heart and stopped yours._

_I loved you. _

_And yet I did this to you. _

_I loved you._

_And yet I killed you._

_I'm sorry._

It was then, in that dark and damp cellar, seeping further in carnage, accompanied by the one thing who used to be his everything, was now only limited to two. A corpse. A regret. It was then that Illumi no longer felt pain nor sadness nor bliss—he felt nothing. He was empty.

Many years later, he still felt nothing.

He was not much different from a walking corpse, wandering aimlessly in this open casket of the Zoldyck family grounds.

* * *

**16 Years Ago**

Illumi Zoldyck was the first of many things in his family. He didn't want to be the first for anything, yet life never really cared for his opinion on such matters. Regardless of his feelings, as was the case for well, almost everything, he was first. Oh joy. He was the first-born child to Silva and Kikyo Zoldyck. He was the first manipulator born in the Zoldyck family lineage. The first to break the very long line of transmuters. An even greater joy. Among his brothers yet to be born, he was the first heir to inherit the Zoldyck throne from his father, who received it from his father before him and so ensued a very long line of first-born sons inheriting thrones from fathers who uncoincidentally happened to be first born sons.

He was also the first one to break that chain. Thus, dubbing himself which everyone in the family knew him well to be: the first disappointment. Enough said.

It wasn't just one disappointment, rather it was a string—a very long—string, sequence rather, of many disappointments that culminated into one giant colossal disappointment that was his parents, but mainly his father's, ultimate sorrow. Someone really should have put him out of his misery while he was still sucking his toes in his crib. The one job the butlers failed to accomplish, anyhow, he reasoned that his first disappointment to his parents predated Milluki or Killua or Kalluto or even that _thing's_ birth. No. Illumi reasoned that his parent's first disappointment of him stretched back further than any of those things.

It all started when he born.

Of all the things to go wrong, he just had to screw up his exit out of his mother's womb.

Illumi was born premature. Too tiny, too frail, too wrinkly for a son of the great Silva Zoldyck. When Silva came out of the womb wailing shrieks and cries that could shatter windows and bore a head of luscious white locks of hair, he practically proclaimed he was the heir. Illumi's birth, on the other hand, was not one to be celebrated like his father's. On the day he was born, he recalled from his mother who only told him once or twice before, that Illumi was thought to be a still birth. His mother said, when he was born, he did not move nor cry. He didn't usher a sound; his pulse was too faint—nonexistent was actaully the word used by his mother—that even the midwife proclaimed him to be dead. It was only after they laid him in a body bag, before the midwife began to zip it up, that was when he finally began to squirm and cry! Perfect timing, obviously.

But his troubles did not end there. Oh no.

Life thought it would be hilarious—laughable—to make the first son of the Zoldyck family a sickly child. He was too skinny. Too frail. Chronic cough with red brimmed eyes were a must for him. Seasonal illnesses were to be expected as well. Pneumonia in winter. The flu in summer. Gastritis in fall…Irritable bowel syndrome in spring. Asthma throughout the year—_every _year. Illumi didn't need to check the calendar to know what month or season it was. His body made it very clear on what time of the year it was.

He was too…everything a Zoldyck son _shouldn't_ be.

In Silva's own words which he's said time and time again to Kikyo mostly, _he's weak_. Although, Illumi couldn't match his father's disgust whenever he said those two words that panged in his heart like a hammer slamming onto a gong. It was a painful reminder that Illumi was not the expected heir his father wanted him to be. Illumi soon learned, while training to become a strong and suitable heir, that his father's approval was not easily given. Not even to a first born son.

This story you are reading is a very sad tale of a sad boy who lived a very sad childhood in a sad household with too many sad people within it to count. There is no happy beginning, no happy ending, and rarely any happy bits in-between. The only happy bit in Illumi's life was a butler who happened to be named Oz, like that one infamous wizard (but Oz did not need magic nor an emerald encrusted city to make himself infamous, that of which Illumi already knew.) Together, they shared a love that was fated. And tragic. It was fated to be tragic, and nothing more. If you are hoping for any sort of happy ending, or any glimmer of any sort of happiness anywhere in this story, there are none, but for those who wish to continue reading this tragic tale of two boys born in the wrong place at the wrong time and raised by the wrong people, who somehow met each other through all these unfortunate events, then thank you. For those of you, brave of heart who dare to continue, the story starts here, many years ago—in the Zoldyck nursery.

"Meow, meow." The little boy chanted to his nanny as he crouched in a large cardboard box, surrounded by many other, more play worthy toys. The nursery was large and envious to all toddlers in all of Padokia. There were slides and toys houses and toy houses with slides, there were even building blocks that ranged from lego sized to that of a small bear. There was even a pit, a swimming pool of plastic balls, to jump into. And yet, the little boy no older than three was more preoccupied with his brown and disposable cardboard box. He crouched low in the box and pretended he was a cat. "Meow, meow, meow."

Usagi, a young and pretty butler, was in charge of looking after Illumi. Looking after his wellbeing, his happiness, and making sure he would never accidentally eat a lego. Just yesterday, Usagi had a panic attack when Illumi put a whole marble in his mouth. Don't worry, Usagi made him spit it out (and hid all the marbles out of his sight.)

"Usagi, look at me!" a head of messy black hair popped up from the box. His glistening black eyes met the butler's. "I'm a kitty. Meow, meow."

Usagi laughed and her laugh ringed like twinkling bells. She crouched low to his box and gasped, "what a cute little kitty you are! I wonder where Illumi went? I saw Illumi climb into this box, but now there is a kitty in his place! Oh, where could he have gone to?"

Illumi titled his head down and smiled. She called him a cute cat. He didn't know how convincing he was. He decided he wouldn't worry Usagi that he switched places with a cat. "It's really me, Usagi!"

Usagi lifted a stuffed bear towards his cheek, it tickled Illumi with soft kisses. He squealed and laughed and retreated further into his box, which wasn't that far, this was a cardboard box, and thus he was ambushed with an avalanche of kisses.

Soon, Illumi jumped up from his box and proclaimed very proudly. "I know what cats eat!" He said, as if it was a secret that only he amongst the whole entire world knew. He was very smart, after all he was already three years old. He practically knew everything everyone around him didn't.

"And what do they eat?"

"Fish!" he replied, excitedly. "Cupcakes too!"

Usagi laughed. "They eat cupcakes?"

"Yup!" Illumi nodded. "With lots and lots of frosting!"

"Illumi," Usagi said. "Quiz of the day, how do you spell your name?"

Illumi beamed happily, he knew this one! He grabbed Usagi's hand and used his index finger to draw out the words, like he practiced with crayon and paper. He pronounced each of the letters in a loud and clear voice as he drew them. "I—L—L—U—M—I—Illumi!"

"Good job! You're such a smart boy, Illumi." Usagi encouraged him.

Illumi knew this to be true, but he still turned his head down and smiled bashfully. Big playful eyes hiding below long lashes. He wondered if Nobel prizes were given to three year old's.

Any happy thoughts about winning Nobel prizes vanished when the door of the nursery creaked open, unpleasantly. What came in was a metal cart whose wheels eerily squeaked, a butler pushing it, and Kikyo following behind the butler. Illumi was mesmerized by the glimmering clear bottle and shiny silver case that laid on the cart, but when his mother told him to come quickly, he was too entranced with his box and playing cat with Usagi. His mother wanted him to stop playing. He crouched lower in his box.

Kikyo looked back and forth between Usagi and the carboard box, disgracefully. Her voice was cold and bitter. "I buy my son the best toys and you have him play with a _box_."

Usagi quickly panicked, and started laughing nervously, out of habit. "Oh no, he was playing with his other toys too, he loved them, really, but he also really liked the box."

"Meow." Illumi called from his box, meowing and purring, happily.

Kikyo was silent as the red light on her visor seemed to zoom in on Usagi and her son.

"He's playing cat." Usagi clarified, combing her hands through her two black braids.

Kikyo stood there for a moment, silently. Finally, she spoke. "Illumi, come and sit here. It's time for your medicine."

Illumi pouted his lips and ducked further into his box. Medicine tasted yucky. He knew if he hid well enough, they wouldn't be able to see him. He still wanted to play with Usagi. His mother wasn't interested in cardboard boxes or cats—or him. "I don't wanna."

"Illumi," Kikyo yelled, vexed. The toddler shivered in his box. Usagi, lifted Illumi out of the box and into the chair.

Another butler, older and uglier with a mole on their eyelid—Illumi stared at it—rolled up his sleeve and wrapped a rubber band around his arm, feeling for a vein. Illumi wondered what was going on as his mother kept complaining to the butler, who pretended to listen, that Silva should be here for their son's first injection. His mother told him to be quiet three times when he started meowing again. Illumi wasn't sure what 'injection' meant and neither did he understand the label printed on the glistening glass bottle, _0.0001% Mol Belladonna._ It seemed different from all the other medicines he has taken before. The medicine wasn't pink, so it probably didn't take like bubblegum or cherry. Maybe it was one of those mystery flavors. He hoped it wasn't coconut. But Illumi understood one thing very well. When the butler opened the silver box and unsheathed the metal syringe, Illumi instantly began to cry. Pointy things hurt. He knew that well, recalling all his flu shots and vaccines. He climbed off his chair and ran to his cardboard box, while the rubber band was still attached around his little arm.

Kikyo grabbed Illumi's arm, "sit back down. You were not told to leave."

"No!" Illumi cried as he looked back at the syringe with watery eyes. The needle looked so sharp. The butler was indifferent as they filled it with the contents from the glass bottle. Illumi cried even harder when he saw how long the needle really was, and how pointy the end looked. He slapped his free hand against his mother, which only seemed to fuel her rage. This time she pulled him closer, nails digging into his skin.

"You do NOT hit your mother."

He slapped her again. Tears in his eyes.

Kikyo raised her arm high above Illumi's head and dropped it down. Fast.

A hand caught her own. It was Usagi.

"Madame." Usagi said, as a sniffling Illumi retreated behind her. The boy was terrified. His cries made that terribly obvious. "If you would let me, I have a suggestion that would help."

The red circle on Kikyo's visor whirled then stopped. She breathed, collecting herself. "I'm listening."

After a thoughtful negotiation, Illumi got back on the chair, but this time in Usagi's lap. He was still crying with snot dripping down his nose, but Usagi held his hand the entire time, encouraging him through supportive whispers, _you're so strong, you can do it, it's only a quick prick, it won't even hurt, after this we'll play cat for as long as you like, _she cooed in his ear.

"I-It's going to hurt." He cried, staring at the needle. Mesmerized. Frightened.

"It won't."

"It will. It will." He stifled in-between cries. His face was red and blotchy by this point.

Usagi's heart winced for the scared little boy. And without thinking of her station as a butler, or the Madame of the household, Usagi kissed the top of Illumi's head and by a miracle of chance, when her lips touched him, his cries softened.

All the while Usagi felt the scrutinizing gaze of Kikyo, while she was holding her son. Comforting him, Embracing him. Usagi ignored the Madame of the house, her focus was on Illumi. The rubber band was wrapped tighter around his arm, alcohol was wiped harshly against his skin, and the syringe pierced through it. Usagi lied, the needle did hurt, but what Illumi didn't know was that the syringe was the least of his problems. It was the clear liquid called Belladonna that emptied from the syringe and into his blood, flowing throughout his veins, that made Illumi detest all the 'injections' that were to come after.

* * *

Convulsions. Spasms. Aching muscles. Foaming of the mouth. Sweating. Shock. Screaming. Even more crying.

All were symptoms of a toddler's response to ingesting a weakened dose of Belladonna for the first time. In greater and more concentrated amounts, death would also be a symptom. But death was carefully avoided as the diluted poison prepared, accompanied with a dose of antibodies, was purposed for Illumi to become immune to the poison's toxic effects. As long as he took the diluted poison gradually and worked his way up to the concentrated amount for the next several years, he will gain immunity. This was his first step to becoming an assassin. A career he didn't even know he was being ushered into at the time.

After the symptoms wore off, many hours—days—later, he was sulking under the castle bridge in the nursey. Arms folded in his lap, crying, and refusing to come out despite all of Usagi's pleas.

"Illumi, please come out." Usagi cooed, softly. "What game would you like to play? How about follow the bunny rabbit? You love that one." The butler held her braids above her head and hopped from one colored mat to the other, desperately trying to draw in Illumi's attention. Illumi wasn't listening.

"I'm not getting an injection ever again!" The little one cried into his arms and sobbed miserably. In fact, he was going to run away and live under this bridge forever and never come out! And food? Well, he stashed seven cookies in the treasure chest (there was eight but crying made him hungry.) If he rationed his stash wisely, it should last him years.

Usagi frowned. If she couldn't get Illumi out from under the bridge, she had no choice but to go under the bridge herself. She got down on all fours and began to crawl, her braids caught under her chest. "Illumi."

The little boy looked up.

She picked up the end of her braid and tickled it against his nose. He began to laugh.

Usagi smiled, she was the happiest when he laughed. Her eyes drifted to the bookcase full of picture books beneath the bridge. A lamp in the shape of a dinosaur illuminated this small space with a soft light. Usagi told Illumi to pick out any picture book he wanted. Naturally, he chose the one with bunnies on the cover.

"Like you," he giggled and pointed at the bunnies on the cover and then to her. And so, they sat side by side as Usagi read to him. Which apparently was a 'Mommy and me' book, but Usagi didn't seem to mind, and Illumi was more preoccupied with the cute animals with fluffy touchable felt fur in the book to care either.

Usagi spoke, her voice was calm like the rustling of a forest stream. She read on, "The baby owl loved his mama and gave her a biiiiiiiiiiiiig hug." She accentuated. Illumi giggled. "The baby giraffe loved her mama very, very much and gave her a biiiiiiiiiiig hug." Illumi pointed to the giraffe's long neck and lifted his up high like a giraffe would. Usagi smiled. "The baby—Illumi what animal is this?"

"It's a puppy!" he said.

"Very good! The puppy loved his mama so much and gave her an even bigger hug." She continued through all the pages, full of little baby animals giving all their mommy's hugs and kisses. Animals that were happy and smiling and loving. She read on until she came upon the last one. Her body froze and for a moment she was silent.

It was a plastic mirror reflecting her and Illumi. Usagi was about to close the book, until Illumi stood up on his knees.

"And I love my mommy very, very much!" Illumi said as he threw his little arms around Usagi and gave her the biggest hug he could manage.

Usagi was the spitting image of the shrieking man in the scream painting. If Kikyo say her now, then—Usagi shook the thought away, she didn't want to think about it. Instead, she did what she always did to get out of an awkward situation—she laughed. Instead of responding to his comment, she ignored it and moved onto another topic. "How about we read another book? Oh!" she picked up one with race cars on it. "This looks like a fun read."

"No thank you, mommy."

"T-Then do you want me to push you on the swings?" Her voice shook, just a little.

"Let's play on the monkey bars, mommy." Illumi said while running out from under the bridge. Happy once more. Forgetting all about his awful injections.

Usagi crawled out from under the bridge as fast as she could, stuttering "Illumi, please don't call me that. My name is Usagi, you know that."

Illumi stopped on the castle stairs and looked down onto her, onto the one kind woman in his life who showed him love like the kind of mommies he saw in the picture book. He looked down onto his mommy. "But that's who you are." He said plainly. As if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You're my mommy."

"No—no, you mustn't call me that." Usagi opened and waved her hands. Panic written all over her face. Eyes gazing towards the door and walls. Towards the eyes watching her that she could not see.

Illumi laughed as he ran into the toy castle. He sang sweetly, "Mommy, mommy, you're my mommy!"

Usagi half shrieked-half whispered. Practically falling unto her knees. "Stop. Please."

That only encouraged Illumi to keep going. Louder even. "Mommy! Let's play on the monkey bars, mommy! Let's go, mommy!" He giggled, he laughed, he kept calling her by that name.

Usagi fell onto her knees. "Stop."

_Mommy_ followed her every plea.

* * *

"I don't know what to do, he kept calling me mommy no matter how many times I told him to stop." Usagi exasperated. She folded her hands over her face and sighed, exhausted. She was speaking to another butler, a young man who went by the name Mamorou. Mamorou leaned back against the wall and thought about what happened with her and Illumi in the nursery.

"And it was right after you read him a Mommy and Me book?" He accentuated as he quirked up an eyebrow suspiciously, arms crossed very judgmentally.

Usagi pulled on her braids and whispered a cry. "I didn't pick out that book. He did. And how was I supposed to tell him no after I said he could pick out whatever he wanted. That's not how promises work." She yelped into her hands.

Mamorou laughed. Usagi didn't think this was funny.

"This isn't funny!" She said, still tugging on her braids. "What if Madame Kikyo hears about this? I saw how she looked at me in the nursery and—" Usagi wanted to say that it looked like Kikyo was…envious of Usagi holding her child and that it looked like Kikyo wanted to skin her alive and gut out her innards, but she didn't have the stomach (which she still thankfully had) to say it out loud, in fear that giving the words a sound—a voice—would make them come true. Instead, she continued to cry.

The insufferable Mamorou continued to laugh. He patted her back, not seeing the gravity, the weight of the situation at all. "Don't worry. Little kids are cheeky like that. He just kept calling you mommy because you kept telling him to stop. It's simple reverse psychology that even little buggers understand. What's important is you made him forget all about his _horrible_ injection—"

Usagi recalled that before Illumi retreated under the bridge like a troll, he threw a toy train at her for lying to him about the injection not hurting. Specifically, he threw the train at her forehead. Where she currently had bandage on, with heart prints. Usagi rubbed her forehead. "Now I just have to keep it up for the next injection and the next after that and the next after that one too." She slouched low. She had a feeling she was going to need more bandages.

"That's the spirit. He most likely forgot all about this mommy incident anyhow." Mamorou encouraged her. Usagi narrowed her eyes at him. She didn't need encouragement. She wanted to quit. "I mean—think of it this way," He turned his face towards the ground, a blush caressing his cheeks from ear to ear. "You said you wanted to have kids in the future and this is good practice, I guess."

Usagi fumbled her braids in her hands, blushing like a budding rose. "I did say that."

They stood next to each other in the hall, slowly closing the distance between them. The corridor was dark except for that one lamp on the table, illuminating their figures. Mamorou reached down into his pocket and felt the small box within in. He wanted to wait until a more private and special moment, but he couldn't wait any longer. "Usagi, we've been dating for a while now."

She turned to him. Anticipating the words to come from his lips. "We have."

"And I wanted to ask you something, um, I mean, if it's alright with you, and if it isn't that's okay like," why is he mumbling like a fool? He practiced his proposal in front of his bathroom mirror at least a dozen times. It was easy to ask for one's hand in marriage to one's reflection, but to the real person who made his heart do everything an acrobat can do and more…he was a mess. A complete, abominable, stuttering mess. He had to get it right the first time. He breathed and gathered what little of his confidence he had left. "I mean, what I'm trying to say is, it would be my honor if you would m—"

Footsteps echoed in the corridor.

The two butlers stepped further apart, creating space between the other, and greeted how a Zoldyck butler was supposed to greet their master. In respectful silence.

Illumi was walking beside another one of his caretakers, with his mother leading the group, it looked like he was on his way for another injection, considering he was stubbornly dragging his feet behind them. Usagi held her tongue and closed her eyes as she avoided little Illumi's gaze, hoping he would just pass by and ignore her.

Illumi saw Usagi.

And quickly ran up to her.

"Mommy!" He threw his arms around her legs and called her that one word she dreaded in front of Kikyo. He gave her a big hug. "I missed you!"

Usagi's eyes sunk into her head, as she felt a wave of cold aura pushing her into the wall. She slowly lifted her eyes towards the Madame of the House. Kikyo, with seething teeth that grinded against the other, with hair that uncoiled from her bun and slithered like snakes, with that single red dot in her visor that locked unto Usagi, targeting her. Usagi was shaking, fear clamping her mouth shut, and praying that Illumi would stop calling her that name in front of his own mother. Kikyo, from her stance and aura and all-around unique personality, resembled that of a bull ready to strike her down.

Illumi looked up at Usagi, confused. Wondering why she wasn't looking at him. Wondering why she wasn't saying she missed him in return. Mommies were supposed to say that they love their babies, but Usagi was quiet. He pulled on her suit, persistently wanting her attention. He wanted her to look at him. "Mommy? What's wrong?"

Usagi thought her life would end there in the corridor by the Madame's hands, but there she was, still breathing. A miracle by its own right. Kikyo took quick and short breathes in and out, and her hair began to fall flat, no longer resembling slithering snakes. Instead, she calmly excused her butler to take Illumi to the nursery, and then she directed her gaze on Usagi and ordered that she follow her into her private study. Usagi was too afraid to speak as she walked solemnly behind Kikyo preparing an apology that literally apologized for everything, including her own incompetent existence.

Mamorou was left alone in the corridor. The light of the lamp flickered, and then it died out.

* * *

Usagi felt like she was a rabbit standing in front of a pack of wolves. Obviously, Kikyo was the _entire_ pack of wolves.

The woman's red visor whirled then slowed, as if she was a machine processing information in front of her at a rapid speed. She shifted at her desk, flipping through files and papers while Usagi stood there silently waiting for her to speak.

Kikyo didn't speak for several long moments, but when she did her tongue was sharp as a thorn. She didn't look at Usagi, no, she directed her speech towards her papers, while Usagi was expected to listen. "The next phase in Illumi's training will begin shortly."

"So soon?" Usagi whispered.

Kikyo's head shot up from the papers, briskly, as if she was stunned that a servant of hers could talk back to her.

Usagi shuddered.

"Yes," Kiyko returned her focus to her papers, health reports of her eldest son. She looked displeased reading them. "Injections have been going smoother than expected, so I don't see why progress should wait any longer. Wouldn't you agree?"

Usagi did agree, only because she knew it was her place not to disagree.

Kikyo shuffled the health reports and laid them on the desk, delicately. If only she treated her son with gentle care as she did with those reports, then maybe Illumi would call her mommy. The legs of her chair made an aching sound as they glided against the wooden floor. Kikyo looked down at it, distastefully. Excluding grandfather, some things in the manor were old and broken and needed to be refurbished. Her kimono, a deep purple, blended into the darkness around them. It was difficult for Usagi to pinpoint when and where Kikyo was moving.

Kikyo stood in front of her face.

Usagi clenched her hands together, preventing herself from jumping back in shock.

"Usagi," Kikyo lulled. "I would like to thank you for your hard work taking care of my son during this important stage of his life—his career. Especially with his first injection, you were such a great help."

Usagi didn't know if Kikyo was being sarcastic or not, but it was her duty to thank her master when being praised, even if the praise was insincere. But soon, Usagi found herself apologizing, which Kikyo seemed to be reveling in. Instead of killing her on the spot, oh no, Kikyo began laughing. A reaction Usagi did not expect.

"Please, it's nothing to apologize over. It's all fun and games with children." Kikyo said, covering her mouth with the sleeve of her Kimono. Usagi thought the Madame was just hiding her sharp teeth, although the room was too dark to tell if Kikyo had any wolf like teeth, or any at all. Maybe her mouth was just an open vortex that sucked everything into it. Vortex or not, Usagi was afraid of standing too close, and not knowing how to act next, she began to awkwardly laugh with the woman.

Kikyo stopped laughing.

So did Usagi.

Silence reigned supreme. Kikyo reached her hand into the sleeve of her kimono. "I expect you to work even harder to take care of my son and help him take the _next_ step in his career. Only you can do it."

Usagi gulped, maybe Kikyo is more forgiving than she seems. "Yes, Madame. I will not let you down."

Unbeknownst to Usagi, there was no knife, there was no gun, there was no dagger or blade, or any weapon hidden in Kikyo's sleeve. There was only a bell. A small black bell. Which the Madame rung once. Echoing through the darkness. Usagi didn't know what it was for, possibly to call in another servant. But no one knocked on the door for some time.

Kikyo lulled:

_A couple of miles away_

_Rising moon on high_

_The land belongs to rabbits_

The bell rung. Echoes sung. Usagi felt her head spinning.

_Little one could not avoid _

_silver light valley _

_Following the grand moonshine _

The bell rung once more. Usagi fell down to her knees, hastily grabbing a hold of Kikyo's kimono. Gasping. Sweating. Eyes bulging. Usagi's hair transformed from black to white. Her bones began to bend and break. Her teeth shifted and moved. Her eyes enlarged and watered and turned red. She cried out in agony. "What's happening to me?!"

Kikyo paid no heed to the impudent girl clinging to her kimono. She clicked her teeth together; the girl was going to leave a crease in her kimono. She raised her black bell and continued the final verse of her haiku:

_Her curious mind _

_Made her fall into things far _

_Worse than rabbit holes._

The bell rung one last time as Usagi pleaded for help, transforming into something other than human. Her uniform lay limp on the floor, while a small ball rolled in the middle. Kikyo bent down and lifted the suit with the tips of her fingers and picked up the little white rabbit in the center of it.

Gotoh knocked on the door and Kikyo permitted him to enter. He bowed, respectfully.

Kikyo's voice was cold and her voice still lingered with a hint of irritation from her previous conversation. All the while, the bunny in her arms did not stop trembling. She ordered Gotoh to dispose of the butler's uniform as it was no longer needed. Neither was Usagi's room and belongings for that matter. Gotoh did as he was told.

"Next time," Kikyo turned around one last time before leaving Gotoh to clean up her mess. "Train future butlers to know their place. I can't have my son—my family—distracted by servants like Usagi."

"Of course, Madame." Gotoh bowed.

Kikyo made her way to the nursery as she stroked the trembling white bunny in her arms. There, in the nursery, she watched Silva teach their son his first lesson. She saw Silva instruct Illumi on how to hold a knife and pointed where to strike on a very human looking mannequin. For a moment, Kikyo didn't realize she was holding her breath. The sight before her was so wonderful. She was so overjoyed, enough to cry.

As she made her way into the nursery, Illumi turned his head and smiled. Only to frown that it wasn't his mommy, Usagi, who walked through the door. Only Kikyo. Silva tapped the mannequin again. "Ilumi," he said, his voice was coarse as stone. "Go on and strike down your enemy just how I showed you."

Illumi fumbled with the knife that was too big for his hands. He took a step towards the faceless mannequin, then he looked back towards Silva, forgetting what he was supposed to do. He hoped that looking at his father would provide him with an answer.

The answer consisted of Silva pushing him forward, encouraging him to plunge the knife into the red painted heart. Illumi hesitantly took a step towards the faceless thing and instead gave it a hug.

"No, Illumi." Silva sighed, exasperated. "You do not _hug_ your enemy."

Illumi nodded, sheepishly. He gave the mannequin a kiss instead.

Silva wiped a hand over his eyes, as if he could wipe away his disappointment. When Silva was Illumi's age, he was already ripping out hearts and breaking bones, not to mention ruining hundreds of lives. But Illumi? The little boy looked so frail holding the knife he could barely lift, which he kept away from himself as far as he possibly could.

"I don't like this game." The little boy whimpered, softly.

"Come, come. I know, the first time was the hardest for me too." Silva pulled Illumi into his arms, holding each of Illumi's hands in his own. He made his son a puppet and drove the knife into the mannequin's heart. The little boy winced from the cracking sound the impact made. That_ he_ made. Silva congratulated his boy on a job well done. Illumi really didn't know if that was worth congratulating.

Silva turned his son towards his mother, and towards the little white rabbit. His sapphire eyes gazed upon his wife, and the ends of his lips curled in delight upon what his wife did to conjure the little rabbit. Her nen was written all over that cursed creature. It was Kikyo's chaos that made her so, so beautiful in his eyes. Then, Silva whispered instructions to his son. Pointing to the mannequin, with its heart stabbed out, and then to the little rabbit.

Illumi shuddered at the thought. Shaking his head. "I don't want to do that!"

"Illumi." Silva crooned, helping his little boy hold up the knife. Nice and steady. "As my son. As my heir. Killing—taking lives—is your birth right. Very few in the world are born with that honor. No one else has the privileges and advantages that you possess. Now—" Silva steered the knife in Illumi's hands towards the rabbit. "Make me proud and do exactly as I tell you. Bring me her heart."

And so was Illumi's first kill. The first of many more to come. He never saw Usagi again, there was no trace of her either. It was as if she disappeared completely, hidden like the rabbit making mochi on the moon. But soon Illumi's days in the nursery quickly came to an end and he forgot about the nanny he once called mommy too. Precious memories were quickly forgotten. Training to become an assassin left little time for him to enjoy what was left of his childhood.

It left little time for him to remember those who once loved him.

Few, as they were.

As said before, there is no happy beginning, there is no happy ending, and there are no happy bits in between. Correction, there is only _one_ happy bit somewhere in this sad tale in the life of Illumi Zoldyck. That one short lived, happy bit was a boy who went by the name Oz. But if you wish to know more about the boy with the wizard's name, who was born in the city where fallen stars meet Earth, who died by the hands of the one he loved, then by all means, read ahead.

Although, there is a rule of thumb to remember. This story happened a very long time ago, so save the hope and pity for another tale with a tear-jerking happily ever after, there is no purpose in wishing for a future that can never be anything other than a disappointment.

Especially for the first-born son of the Zoldyck family.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for reading the first chapter of Letters to Yesterday! Throughout the fic, it will progressively get darker so some trigger warnings include: abuse, torture, blood, murder, etc. There will also be, um, 'peach' scenes when Illumi and Oz are both 18+ years old lol So the chapter! Poor Usagi! She was turned into a rabbit by Kikyo! (kikyo's nen ability was never explained in canon, so I took the liberty of making it up for my own purposes, sorry lol ) And Illumi, he used to be a sweet child but as the fic progressives while the opposite becomes more true XD

I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Please review, I'd love to know your thoughts XD


	2. Red Threads

Ages:

Illumi (6 years old)

Milluki (1 year old)

* * *

_To Oz:_

_You were the last of the stars,_

_The night sky is too dark without you._

_From: Illumi_

* * *

**Chapter 2: ****Red Threads**

My condolences go to all those who returned to this sad tale. It isn't too late to turn back as I deeply implore you to read some other tale that is happier, pleasant, with well-mannered characters. Because the young unfortunate miscreant in this tale is neither happy, pleasant, nor well-mannered. This chapter, documenting the disappointing life of Illumi Zoldyck, is more tragic than the last. Even I would advise you, a decent person, to look away.

But for those who wish to continue to read about the disappointing life of the oldest Zoldyck son—the first heir to the Zoldyck family—let's start off with defining a well-mannered child.

A well-mannered child is a young lass, of an age far younger than I, who listens to their parents. Whether it pertains to cleaning your room and those hazards that await from beneath your bed to brushing your teeth when you're told to, or simply being nice to your siblings when you on most occasions wouldn't regularly be nice to. In the Zoldyck Household, a well-mannered child obeys their parents. Without question. A well-mannered child also did not unnecessarily cause trouble for their parents.

According to this definition, Illumi was not a well-mannered child and he caused a lot of trouble, much to his parents' disappointment. And by trouble, with him being the oldest of only one baby brother who could only manage to coo and drool over anything and everything, Illumi made up for Milluki's fair share of troubles and caused all of it himself within the Zoldyck Household.

I implore you to stop reading this very instant. For things did not get better after Illumi's first _bunny kill _and did not get better anytime soon after.

The continuation of the story occurs here between two crates of chopped red cabbages in the pantry of the Zoldyck kitchen. And if you know anything about red cabbages, is that they are misnomers. They are more purple than they are red, and they are blue when cooked with vinegar. Besides color indication, they smell like everything vegetables shouldn't smell like, especially on hot days when the AC shuts down when you are hiding, from those who wish to find you, in the back of the kitchen pantry. Practically baking red cabbages smelled that much worse. Fear heightened the awful stench.

The household was a madhouse. Butlers scrambling throughout the halls, uplifting furniture, rearranging rooms, frantically running and bumping into each other. Searching.

Illumi crouched low, practically disappearing between the two crates of cabbages that smelled like someone just took a massive and unapologetic fart. Illumi looked around the darkened cabinet and could not see a thing. But he could smell. He clamped his nose shut with his index finger and thumb, and felt his eyes tearing from the smell. He wiped his nose and figured the smell of that cabbage bum bomb was enough to turn the butlers and his mother away from finding him.

His pushed himself farther against the wall, toes curling in his shoes. Today was the day, when he wouldn't be found.

His eyes locked onto the only light source emitting from the pantry. The light from the kitchen, slowly seeping its way under the door, not even close to reaching his knees that were clutched tightly against his chest. He watched and waited for the light to disappear and falter. Anxiously listening to the butlers scrambling into each other, their voices echoing throughout the halls. Into his little pantry. He sniffled and wished no one would open the door to the smelly pantry of red cabbages.

"Where is the young master? Did you find him?" One butler panted. Sounding exhausted. Like he searched the entire manor without as so much breathing.

"He's not in the drawing room!" Another roared back. Sounding very annoyed. "He does this every time, I'm sick of it."

"Be mindful Madame doesn't hear you. You know what happened to Usagi. And for your information I checked the nursery—again—he isn't there." A different voice said to the two. Sounding genuinely worried and concerned. Obviously, this was not his mother. "Perhaps he is in the gardens—"

"DO I PAY YOU TO DAWDLE? WHERE IS MY SON, YOU INCOMPETENT INGRATES?" That screeching voice grated like nails on a chalk board. It was a voice that was vicious. It was a voice that was cold. Bingo, that's his mother, Kikyo. Illumi could recognize his mother's voice anywhere. What a tragedy. Intuitively, he swiftly covered his ears waiting for her next shrieking outburst. "FIND HIM!"

Illumi could hear the butler's panicking, their loafers squeaking against polished wooden floors, and running down the halls. Accidentally slamming into other butlers who were just yelled at by Kikyo to go find him. Illumi shook his head at all those butlers who were constantly terrorized by his mother. He didn't know who had it worse—him or them. But if he had a choice, which he didn't, he preferred if they received the complete brutality of his mother's wraith, rather then he. Adults were barely more accustomed to cruelty than children were, which is something that can never be outgrown, but being accustomed to Kikyo's cruelty was something else altogether—no one was accustomed to it. No one ever could be accustomed to it. Illumi scratched his nose, the smell of the cabbages was bothering him.

He heard footsteps.

Shadows cut the light beneath the pantry door. One. Two.

There were two butlers in the kitchen—searching for him.

"Ugh," One butler wafted a hand over his face. "What's that smell?" He eyed his companion, suspiciously.

"Well, it wasn't me." The other retorted.

"I didn't say it was you."

"The way you looked at me said a lot."

"What's wrong with the way I look at you—I look at everyone like this." The incriminator played the part of the victim well.

"You were making a face at me—"

"What's wrong with my face?"

The butler combed a hand through his hair and mumbled. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. We don't have time for this. We're supposed to be looking for the young master. Or else Madame Kikyo is going to take it out on us."

"To be honest," the butler whispered in a hush tone. Sharing a secret. "I really hate her."

The other butler shared a secret back, whispering. "I hate her too." An unspoken bond formed between the once bickering butlers. Sometimes, agreeing that you both hate something about a situation outside of your control—or bitching about your boss—can bring people together. The butlers smiled at each other, relishing their mutual hatred for their employer and became friends that day.

Somewhere in the pantry, Illumi nodded as well. Illumi would never become friends with the butlers, but he agreed with them. His nose began to tickle.

"But seriously, what IS that smell?"

"I thought we were done with this conversation…"

"That putrid smell won't go away—I think it's coming from the pantry."

Illumi froze. Stiff. Pushing himself further against the stone wall. Hoping he would sink right into it and disappear.

Kikyo's shrieking voice echoed through the halls. Butler #1 shivered. "Let the kitchen staff deal with the fermenting vegetables. We better leave before the beast finds us dawdling."

Butler #2 laughed at Butler #1. Butler 1# smiled because Butler #2 laughed at what Butler #1 said. Butler #1 and butler #2 became very good friends. Butler 1# then asked butler #2 if he would like to get a drink and dinner later. Butler #2 was delighted. Butler #1 was elated. Butler #3 stood in the kitchen doorway watching butler #1 and butler #2 being their usual useless selves.

Butler #3 yelled. "Didn't you two hear the Madame? We're supposed to be looking for young master Illumi!"

Butler #1 and butler #2 saluted, "Yes, butler #3!"

Butler #3 gave them a quizzical look. Deadpanned. "My name is Gertrude."

Butler #1 and butler #2 squawked together, "really?"

"YOU KNOW WHAT MY NAME IS. I've worked here for five years." Butler #3—eh—Gertrude barked.

Butler #2 coughed. "Oh, well you see, he and I are new, and we never get to hear any of the other butlers' names. The madame and everyone else just points or yells at us when calling. So we kind of just assumed you're butler #3—and I always assumed you're butler #1—there's a lot of you by the way."

Butler #1 sighed. "A lot of us are called butler #1."

Illumi's jaw dropped. The butlers had people names? Wow. He never knew. He really needs to stop calling that one butler with the short orange hair, butler #23—

Illumi sneezed.

All the undervalued butlers of various numerical values stopped talking.

Illumi clamped a hand over his mouth.

Whispers were exchanged.

The pantry door slowly opened.

Light shined into his big black eyes as all butlers of various numerical values yelled, "we've found him!"

They pulled him out from the pantry and brought him to the beast.

* * *

Injections weren't the absolute worst thing in the world. Well, they used to be the worse thing, but not anymore since his body was becoming immunized to various poisons. So, the after effects didn't really affect him—that much. After injections, his mother and whatever few butlers were at her side, monitored him. His breathing, blood pressure, symptoms of any kinds. And during this period of injections, this was the most peaceful. His mother wasn't screaming in his ear—she was just irritated from him neglecting his responsibilities as the future heir—and the more injections to various poisons he received, the less symptoms he experienced. But during this waiting process, he could watch movies.

Illumi liked that.

Today, Illumi was watching an animated classic. Cinderella. He watched the tv screen as the fairy godmother transformed Cinderella's tattered rags into a beautiful dress, her mice into horses, and her pumpkin into a gold carriage. On some level or another, Illumi felt sad for Cinderella. He hated her stepmother and he hated her stepsisters even more. After the way they ripped Cinderella's dress apart, promising then denying her to go the ball that every other maiden in the land is more than welcome to go to, he wanted to punch each of those ugly spinsters in the face. He kind of wondered why Cinderella just didn't kill them if she hated them so much. They were her stepfamily, but Illumi guessed that Cinderella was obligated by his Family's rule too. Family does not kill family. He really wished those wicked ladies were her neighbors to make things easier, but he soon forgot about that issue when Cinderella was dancing in the grand ballroom that glittered like dazzling crystals, with the prince.

Then his favorite scene started. Cinderella and the prince were dancing while everyone else around them looked insanely jealous, especially those stepsisters. Serves them right, Illumi thought, the prince would only dance with Cinderella who was kind and beautiful. Illumi felt like cheering, he felt like applauding, he felt like throwing rotten red cabbages at the stepsisters…he felt like dancing with the prince.

At the time, Illumi didn't notice that the prince only danced with fair maidens, and that fair maidens only danced with other princes—or dukes or really important earls considering there was only one prince and two hundred plus maidens swooning for a chance to dance their way to the throne. Illumi's eyes were only on the prince as he and Cinderella danced the night away at the ball. He hoped that one day he could dance with Prince Charming. Or a duke or a really important earl. Definitely one that had to be as charming and dashing as the prince though. That was an obvious prerequisite. Illumi was young, six years old, but he had standards. But to dance with a prince?

Kikyo noticed Illumi's dreamy expression as he was smiling at the screen. She smoothed the top of his head, a kind and rare gesture, and said "you'll find your own Cinderella one day, one just like me."

Illumi was surprised (and terrified.) He didn't want a Cinderella (or to marry someone like his mother). He wanted a Prince Charming. But his mother looked so happy and happy moments with her were seldom. So instead he mumbled, 'yeah' while not averting his eyes from the tv.

"The prince is so handsome." Kikyo said.

"He is!" Illumi said, a little too quickly. But his mother laughed from his enthusiasm, which only gave Illumi an incentive to continue speaking. "They didn't show anyone else dancing with him."

"There is no reason for him to dance with anyone else when Cinderella is his one true love."

Illumi's heart sunk when she said that. His heart monitor emitted a beep as the curved line dived down then back up on the screen. "So…he can't dance with anyone else? Not even me?"

Soon, Milluki's binky plopped out of his mouth and he burst into tears. Kikyo cleared her throat and frantically began to look around the ground for the binky. She grunted as she looked to the butler, "turn off the movie. It's distracting." She yelled at the butler to find Milluki's binky.

The tv was turned off, Illumi did not talk more about princes, and that was the end of that. Throughout the rest of the session, his mother looked gravely irritated, rocking a crying Milluki back and forth in her arms. Illumi wondered if it was something he said that upset her. Maybe he should speak less from now on.

* * *

Entering a home, you've never been in before can be uncomfortable. Different people. Different. Different smells. Different aura. Questionable furniture choices. Illumi thought he would get used to that feeling of uncomfortableness with every mission he was assigned.

He was far from comfortable.

The mansion of the target he was assigned to kill was lost in a forest of pine and frost. Trapped in a never-ending bitter blizzard as snow plummeted against the brick walls and iron gates. There was no relief from the cold inside the mansion either. The fireplace was empty. Only soot and dust collected in that stone hearth. A faint blue light reflected through the glass panes. Illumi's footsteps were faint like the falling snow outside. Unnoticed. People don't notice a few fallen snowflakes. They notice the avalanche. Illumi's training as an assassin required him not to make a sound while stalking his prey. The creaking of a floorboard, the squeaking of his shoes, the sound of his breaths—all of it was meant to stay silent. As far as the residents of the mansion were concerned, Illumi was nonexistent. He was a ghost lurking in the shadows.

Illumi listened—and turned a corner.

Illumi knew his father was watching him. Somewhere in the shadows. Watching his progress. Assessing his skills. Critiquing every move and every choice he made. He couldn't afford mistakes. Something his father detested most among all things. Illumi made his way towards the target's room, envisioning the location in his head, passing the gallery of the dead. Portraits engulfed in golden frames, strung up on walls. High. The eyes of the those who once lived followed him as he passed by with hollow steps like that of a phantom. The eyes of one painting grabbed his own.

Illumi tripped.

The sound was barely audible, no louder than a mouse. He knew the right way to muffle his fall with his palms touching the carpet. He closed his eyes hard and let his forehead sink to the floor. No doubt Silva witnessed his fall. His first mistake of the night, but he couldn't dwell on it. Soon, he got up and remembered his purpose. He stood back up on his feet and faced the painting that caused his first mistake of the night.

Shadows of the snow fall fell over Illumi's body, and of the grim painting by Caravaggio. _The Sacrifice of Isaac. _According to his mother, a good assassin must be knowledgeable in an assortment of fields even those that seem to have nothing to do with taking lives—or cutting throats. While most six-year-olds were making cakes out of playdoh, Illumi was well-versed in the History of Renaissance Art, and a bit of Baroque. Not all six-year-olds can brag about that. Not that Illumi had anyone to brag to about it. He recognized the old painting of Abraham holding a knife against his eldest son's throat, Isaac. Isaac was bound to a pyre of wood, his hands and feet were tied, his face in a contortion of pain and rage and misery. God wanted Abraham to show his loyalty and undying love for him, and apparently the only suitable way was sacrificing his first-born son whom he loved more than anything and anyone in the world. God was testing Abraham's obedience—and Abraham followed through with it until an angel intervened with a ram in Isaac's place. Abraham intended to kill his own son—but it was Abraham's unwavering obedience to God that saved Isaac. Isaac was spared because God was pleased with Abraham's loyalty to him. Kikyo told Illumi during lessons.

Illumi wasn't so sure.

Illumi stared into the dark voids of Isaac's screaming eyes—Isaac didn't have a say in any of this. Pinned down to the pyre, against his will. Blade against his throat, against his will. A sacrificial lamb to be slaughtered by his own father, against his will. If Illumi stepped closer and closer—he noticed tears on the edge of those obsidian, horror struck eyes. He reached up to touch those iridescent water drops permeating through the painting. From one eldest son to another—tormented by their own father.

"Illumi."

Illumi gasped and turned around towards the cold voice. It was his father. Who was holding a knife in his hand. Silva unsheathed it.

And handed it to Illumi.

"Strike fast." Silva said.

"Yes, father."

"Where do you strike?" Silva inquired, coldly.

"Here, father." Illumi softened his voice and pointed towards the side of his neck. Silva simply nodded once in agreement.

"Strike without hesitation."

"Yes, father." Illumi mumbled.

"Strike without fear." Silva growled, firmly.

"Yes, I know, father."

"Go show me that you know."

Illumi entered the target's room without a sound. The room was dark, but his eyes were accustomed to the darkness. To his surprise, he saw the figure on the bed. His chest slowly rising and falling. The man was sleeping—his last night alive and well. Illumi slithered to the side of the bed and with one hand his blade edged towards the man's neck—the words of his father echoed in his ears as he lowered his knife—strike without fear.

* * *

Silva was surprised when his son finished so quickly. This would be the first. A sense of pride swelled in Silva's chest. "How did it go?" He asked his little son.

Illumi fumbled with the shaft of the knife, which was surprisingly not drenched with blood. "The target was asleep."

"Yes." Silva nodded his head, listening.

"I woke him up."

"And then you finished him off." Silva stared down at Illumi, perplexed.

Illumi only looked down at a speck of dirt on the ground. Frowning.

Silva rubbed a hand over his eyes, exasperated. "Go on. Tell me. What went wrong?"

"I woke him up and asked if it was okay if I could kill him. He said no."

Silva fought the urge to scream. "You—What the—What did I just say?!" He breathed. Holding in his temper in someone else's home was a hard thing to do. Illumi flinched. Silva bellowed in a hushed voice. "Why did you feel the need to ask?"

"I thought it was unfair if he were to die in his sleep without knowing what's going on, so I woke him up to ask—"

"You don't ask the TARGET for permission to slit their throat."

"Well I didn't say it like that. That's rude."

"You don't need to say it. You don't need to ask. You just do it."

The alarm system went off. People began screaming.

A butler emerged from the corridor—with an AK 47. In their general direction.

Silva grabbed the knife out of Illumi's hand and sheathed it. The mission was already compromised. It was time to leave.

* * *

The snow was piling high as Illumi was trudging himself through the bitter cold snow. Snow clung to his thighs. Snow touched his skin. Snow seeped through his bones. The wind howled like a beast on the prowl.

Flurries of white swarmed his vision; the back of his father became less and less visible. Silva began to walk faster in the snow and Illumi tried his best to keep up.

The little boy tripped and fell in the snow. His body was numb, and it didn't feel like his own.

Illumi stopped. Curling forward. Shivering.

He did not hear his father approach him, he only heard the continuous roar of the wind, but he knew his father was looking down on him. He could already imagine the look on his father's face. A look of disappointment.

Illumi knew it was selfish of him to think of this, but he hoped his father would extend his hand and carry him out of the snow. Carry him home. Illumi knew it was selfish of him, but he hoped and hoped and hoped.

"Get up." Was all Silva said, the disdain in his voice was palpable. It hurt. Illumi slowly rose up from the snow and walked behind his father. Head and shoulders facing the ground, that was piling high with snow and snow and snow.

* * *

After a long day of working, or assassinating (which I hope isn't the latter for you), it is wonderful to come home and sleep your worries away. Whether it is eating a delicious hot meal or snuggling on your couch watching your favorite TV show. Or doing both simultaneously. It is a peaceful luxury.

Illumi was not welcomed home with a hot meal or a couch to lounge on.

A muzzle was strapped over Illumi's mouth. Panting. His eyes darted across the room, eyeing the wires and probes and electroconvulsive machine. Two black electrodes were secured over his temples, while the other electrodes were fastened all over his body, from his head to his torso to his legs. The black wires coiled venomously around his skin like snakes squeezing out what little air that was left. Tears began pricking in the corners of his eyes. Fear transparent within them.

Returning to a welcoming home was a luxury Illumi did not have. Unsurprisingly.

Illumi's cries were stifled by the muzzle barricading his screams. His pleads. The world around him looked as if a painter smeared a brush over the room as water swelled and pooled from his eyes. He saw the butler turn on the machine and crank up the milliamps. His heard his father barking at the butler to increase the watts. Illumi could feel his heart rapping against his chest, and he cried for his father's attention to stop. Just for a second to breathe.

Silva's arms were crossed when he finally looked at his son. He removed the muzzle and Illumi sucked in air and did something his father hated the most, even more than making mistakes.

Illumi began to beg.

"Please, father." Illumi choked on his own words. His lips quivered, no matter how hard he bit the inside of his mouth to stop himself from crying. It didn't work. "Can we end the session now? Please. Please. I want to stop now."

"Illumi," Silva's voice was cold, and showed no remorse. "We only just begun."

"But it hurts so much." Illumi's cries rose higher and louder. Whimpers bouncing off the stone walls. The butler turned their head away from them. "Father, it hurts. Please. Make it stop."

Silva knelt to his son's eye level, his eyes were bitter cold like ice. Illumi shivered from the sight. "What if you were captured and you begged your captors to stop torturing you, would they listen to your begging just because you asked?"

"N-no, but—"

"Would your captors care if you are in pain? Would they cease their actions once you gave them the information they desired?"

"But f-father, I'm so hungry and tired. I didn't eat anything all day." Illumi said, spilling through a pile of excuses. He needed an escape. None of which Silva bought. "I-I have to go to the bathroom—"

"Would your captors let you live if you couldn't endure this pain? WOULD THEY SEND YOU FREE!?"

Tears rolled down Illumi's cheeks, dripping onto the wires adhered to his skin. "Father, it hurts—"

"ANSWER ME!" Silva's voice echoed throughout the chamber.

"No." The tears wouldn't stop.

"This scenario is no different." Silva strapped the muzzle back over Illumi's mouth. A device more so for Silva than for Illumi. A child's scream is never a pretty sound. Especially when there was no end to it. Silva looked over at the butler and nodded, the sound of the ECT machine roared as the electrical sparks jumped out from the antennas. Silhouettes of blue and white twisted dragons shot in the air, reflecting over Illumi's eyes. Petrified. The image of Isaac about to be slaughtered by his father flooded his mind. Illumi wondered if God would take pity on him and send an angel to stop his own father too. Silva voice's tremored like thunder "Remember, Illumi. This is all to help you. You'll understand more clearly when you're older, my son."

A teardrop rolled down Illumi's cheek. No angels were going to save him.

The last thing Illumi saw was a flash of white.

There was not much to remember afterwards than the usual onslaught of pain tearing at every corner and crevice of his body.

Pain was something a Zoldyck heir had to become accustomed to.

Illumi wondered just how many more times he would be forcibly strapped to this chair, probed with these black electrodes, and muzzled like a dog to become accustomed to this pain.

At this stage in his life, Illumi was six years old. It would take him another six years to endure this pain, but it only took him a moment to stop begging for mercy. Begging—was a useless thing in his father's eyes.

Utterly useless.

* * *

Never in Illumi's life was he thankful to be stuffing corn porridge down his throat. By this point he was swallowing down bowls he didn't have time to savor the richness of the corn, the candied raspberries or diced dark chocolate sprinkled on top.

Illumi was currently sitting underneath a large table that held food that was even more delicious than corn porridge. But alas, the small bowls of corn porridge were the closet to the edge of the table and were the easiest for him to quickly grab and swipe before others noticed, even though many did notice. While his mother and father were hosting a dinner party for their—eh—friends (clientele and other assassins) Illumi was hosting a party of his own underneath the table, with all ten of his imaginary friends. I wouldn't have to be the one to tell you that his imaginary friends were not chatty in the slightest. They were all too interested in the porridge. Obviously. Illumi noticed this and peeked his head through the white laced tablecloth for more treats.

Suddenly, a wrinkled hand holding a glazed cinnamon bun appeared in front of Illumi. The aroma of the treat put a smile on Illumi's face. The old hand holding the treat belonged to his great-grandfather, Maha Zoldyck.

"Father, how many sweets have you eaten this evening?" Zeno asked, holding a glass of wine.

Maha smiled a cracked smile and rubbed a hand over his stomach tenderly, implying that he has eaten many, many sweets this evening, and that his son should mind his own business. He doesn't question Zeno of all the pork & edamame dumplings he has eaten this evening, no matter how much gas it gives him. Maha is a good father, he keeps his nose on his face where it is supposed to be.

"You shouldn't have sweets considering what they do to your stomach." Zeno sipped his wine.

Maha stuck his tongue out at the son of his own blood, which garnered laughs from the guests and side eyes from Kikyo, if only one could see such a grim sight hidden behind her visor. Maha looked down towards his giggling great-grandson, handing him the treat with a wink, and keeping their secret hush-hush.

Illumi winked in return and retreated under the tablecloth. Gorging on the soft and creamy cinnamon roll. When he was done, he didn't have any napkins, so he wiped his hands on the hem of a lady's dress and just because he felt like it, he tied the laces of a man's black shoes together into a pretty bow.

Illumi does enjoy the company of his imaginary friends, but he also felt like ditching them. They weren't talking to him and he really wished he had a friend who would. He crawled out from under the table and passed the adults talking nonsense and the butler named Mamorou who looked more dismal than he has ever been in recent years. Illumi walked towards the garden, specifically to his mother's prized garden. The grass beneath his feet soon transitioned to red and to even deeper shades as he walked over aisles of rose petals.

Black rose petals.

The black rose was a rare type of flower, almost extinct. Yet, the only living flowers thrived in the Zoldyck Estate, so one could say that they were dead to the rest of the world. A hidden treasure. The petals beneath his feet coagulated like clumps of blood. The liquid from the flower was no different when cut, it looked as if blood oozed from it. Black roses symbolized a few fashionably ill-fated things. They stood for death, dark magic—and love gone wrong. They surrounded the garden—they surrounded Illumi. Illumi laid down on the wooden bench and stared up through the garden's lush canopy, fragments of evening light warmed his skin. Through the canopy of black he squinted his eyes and noticed something red and bright flowing in the wind.

It was a ribbon.

A ribbon that resembled a red thread that twisted and turned and traveled over and under other red threads. One ribbon fell through the branches and floated into his hand as if it belonged there. A woman caught Illumi gawking at the sight and approached him. Her long blonde hair was tied in an elaborate bun, with germanium crystals woven into her braids. Her dress was the color of starlight, hovering angelically above her form. Her skin was a honey color, dipped in the sun, and her voice was sweet like honeysuckle. "I see you found a red thread of fate."

Illumi nodded.

"Do you know what it means?" She smiled.

Illumi shook his head.

She tapped his finger, while hers trailed down the thread, like a dew drop on a blade of grass. Her voice twinkled like silver bells. "Everyone has a red thread of fate, even you. It is a special thread that connects lovers together, like your mother and father."

"Yuck, I don't want one." Illumi wrinkled his nose. The woman laughed.

"But it will lead you to your future wife, a woman just like your mommy. Don't you want to meet her?"

Illumi dropped the red thread. Fast. He didn't want a wife—he wanted a Prince Charming.

The woman covered in starlight continued laughing. "You're too young to have a lover, anyhow. But from the moment of birth," she held his pinky finger, "an invisible red thread connects those who we are destined to meet, regardless of time, place, and circumstance. The thread may stretch or tangle. But it will never break."

That's one strong thread. Illumi narrowed his eyes into dark slits, suspiciously. "That doesn't make sense if I can't see it or that it can't break."

She smiled. "It's not an ordinary thread."

Illumi hummed, and he definitely wasn't buying it. Plus, if this red thread was going to lead to his future wife, aka another woman like Kikyo, Illumi didn't want to meet her sooner than he was supposed to (or at all, really, he preferred losing the thread entirely. That and he wanted Prince Charming.)

"They also lead to best friends."

Illumi looked up at the woman. A fire burned inside his heart. Hope flickered. "Do they really?"

"They most certainly do."

"Cross your heart and hope to die?"

She placed a hand over her heart, her diamond ring glittered from the light. "Cross my heart and hope to die."

Only assassins could make that kind of promise, she was telling the truth! Illumi picked up the red thread, this time with vigor and immediately began to follow it, his best friend was on the other side! There is a real and alive friend waiting for him on the end of this exact red thread! And it's not an imaginary one either! He couldn't contain his excitement as he was jumped over the bench and ran through the crowd of assassins and sped past the man whose shoelaces he tied together. That man had a date with the fallen black rose petals, and lot of dirt. In his mouth. For an assassin, that man was very stupid.

"Eclipsa," A man came behind her, clasped his arms around her waist and kissed her cheek.

"Draco," Eclipsa mused at her husband, what an impatient man he was. "Wait until we get back to our room." Laughing in between kisses.

The man hummed into his wife's neck. A sweet melody. "The agony you put me through is unbearable."

"It will only be a few hours."

"Unbearable." Draco whined. Eclipsa combed her hand through his messy black hair, and that seemed to quell him. He swayed with her in his arms, as if they were dancing to a song only they could hear. "I think that little rascal was the one who tied my shoelaces together."

"That would explain the dirt." Eclipsa wiped a speck off his cheek.

"Thank you, darling." He kissed her hand sweetly, the one with the diamond ring. "What were you telling the child? Hopefully not more lies. Better not get his hopes up, he has enough disappointing things to look forward to in life."

Eclipsa pushed his shoulder, playfully. "Oh, stop it. Is the Red Threads of Fate really a lie?"

"Welllll," Draco titled his head. "I pity most people really, for not everyone can be as lucky as you and I." His kisses trailed from her hand and up her arm. And last but not least, her lips. Well, only if she took her hands off his mouth. "budd muah lovb," _but my love_, he seemed to say. she released her hand. "I didn't finish! Let me kiss thy lips—"

Eclipsa dashed behind the bench and into the gazebo, she waltzed across the wooden railing as Draco stayed underneath, holding out his arms reciting romantic soliloquies. While others would gag, Eclipsa was enraptured by his flattering of her. She looked at him from over her shoulder and batted her gold lashes.

Draco proclaimed, "But soft, what light from yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Eclipsa is the sun—"

"I thought Juliet is the sun."

"Never heard of her."

Eclipsa laughed her twinkling laugh.

"Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, who is already sick and pale with grief. That thou, her maid, art far more fair than she. Be not her maid, since she is envious. Her vestal livery is but sick and green, and none but fools do wear it. Cast it off—"

Eclipsa danced from one end of the gazebo to the other, enthralled with black roses. Her hand laced the outline of a single rose and she admired its beauty. Draco followed her every step, dutifully. He saw her hide behind a pillar and he quickly followed. Entranced.

"It is my lady; O, it is my love!" Draco opened his arms wide open—for Maha Zoldyck.

The smile on Draco's face shattered.

The smile on Maha's face widened.

Draco stepped back. "Oh, I'm sorry."

Maha stepped forward.

Draco internally screamed.

Gotoh quickly followed behind the old assassin and (gently) grabbed him from the back. Gotoh bowed to the guest and apologized. "Forgive me Mr. Draco Foxglove. I'm terribly sorry that the master of the house surprised you, sometimes he gets confused and forgets what he is doing."

"…It's quite alright." Draco mumbled. Maha's eyes wouldn't leave him. "Mistakes…happen."

Gotoh bowed a second, and third time. Finally, he turned to the very old assassin. "Come along master, pudding is being served in the dining area as we speak."

Maha grunted.

"It is chocolate pudding. Your favorite."

Maha hummed in approval.

For several moments, Eclipsa and Draco just stared into the foliage of leaves where the butler and the very confused assassin left. They stayed that way for some time.

Draco stepped upon a stone and there his lips met that of his wife's. Eclipsa lifted her arms around his neck, taking him in. His eyelashes brushed against her skin and his heart skipped a beat.

His wrist was covered with blood.

And so was Eclipsa's as the back rose bush beside her was too big and had too many thorns. Sharp thorns. Eclipsa pulled her wrist back from the bush, while Draco was nowhere near the roses. Eclipsa only spared a moment for her own wound, soon her attention transfixed to Draco. Worry written all over her face.

Draco pulled a handkerchief from his coat pocket and held it against Eclipsa's hand instead. "Does it hurt?"

"Only a little but look at yourself." She took his wounded wrist and wrapped his handkerchief around it. She dabbed the blood away and kissed his wrist, "there, all better."

If one could see what was hidden behind Draco's eyes, one would see that Draco was concerned with something much greater than the cut on his wrist. There was a great misery in his eyes that Eclipsa knew very well of.

Draco's voice was low and soft. He pulled his hand away from her and stared into the black rose bush that burned dark like blood. Holding his bloody wrist that was cut by something other than thorns. "When will you release me?"

The clouds shifted in the sky and covered the sun, like a mask over an actor's face. Slithers of light barely made it through the mask, creating a gold crown around the clouds. Shadows stretched across the garden, casting the flowers and forest and Draco in a vast void of darkness. It was cold and bitter. The ends of Eclipsa's lips curved into an insidious and crooked smile. High up in the corner of the gazebo, a spider caught a butterfly in its web and proceeded to wind it up with silver thread. She lifted her hand and trailed it along his chest, grabbed his tie and pulled him in. Her hand waltzed over his heart, up his throat, and under his chin where her finger came to rest. Words whispered past her fangs, "I'll think about it."

Draco did not avert his gaze from the bleeding black roses. He knew it in his heart that she would say that answer. She always said that. A beating red tail caught his attention in the corner of his eye. A red ribbon was dangling in a branch of an old oak tree. He watched the red ribbon wave in the wind. According to lore, a red thread of fate neither breaks nor can it be cut. It may stretch and tangle and wind about. He brought his gaze down to his own wrist, that was untouched by black thorns, yet still bloody. He could feel his own thread winding around his hand, tighter and tighter. Pulling him down like a chain.

* * *

This was the happiest Illumi has felt in the entirety of his six years of life. He followed the continuation of the red ribbon that led through the garden of black roses and over the fountain of angels and demons, past the crystal bowl of chocolate pudding that was currently being devoured by his great-grandfather. Illumi heard several guests telling Maha to slow down.

The ribbon was ending! Illumi couldn't wait to see who was on the other side of the ribbon! He imagined that his best friend would love adventuring like he does, love exploring like he does, and love playing jump rope and house and drinking milk through his nose like he does. Then Illumi gasped with an exciting revelation! Maybe his new best friend was also a stegosauruses dinosaur who was also a technician for NASA with X-ray vision and pooped cupcakes! Or his best friend could very well be a boy his age who lacked scales and X-ray vision eyes, but whose name related to a big and powerful wizard that starts with an O and ends with a Z, who lives in an emerald city, but the possibilities were endless! He was so excited!

Illumi let out a squeal as he followed the ribbon under the table and onto the other side. He lifted the white lace tablecloth above his head and the moment of truth slapped him hard in the face.

Literally.

Milluki kicked his foot into Illumi's mouth and the boy recoiled back. Milluki made Illumi bite his own tongue! "That hurt!" Illumi said, holding a hand towards his mouth, he pulled his hand back and saw a speck of blood.

Milluki laughed.

Illumi felt miserable! This couldn't be where the red thread ends! There was no way Milluki is his best friend! Milluki doesn't even know how to talk yet, he constantly bites Illumi's fingers, and he just kicked Illumi in the mouth! Best friends don't do that! Well, Illumi never had a best friend in his life, but he assumed that best friends don't kick each other in the mouth.

Relief and anger simultaneously flooded the little boy. Relief, because he saw that the red ribbon did not end at Milluki. Milluki was simply sitting on top of it. Anger, because Milluki was chewing on the ribbon, practically ripping it to shreds with his new baby teeth.

"No, don't break it!" Illumi yelled and pulled the ribbon out of Milluki's hands. Which was a grave, grave mistake on his part. The little baby could only watch in horror as his only relief for teething was ripped from his chubby little hands. His plump face began to scrunch up and his lips began to quiver like a storm and the tears that followed caught every guests' attention, including his mother and father's.

"Illumi!" Kikyo barked at her eldest son. "What did you do to your baby brother?" Kikyo picked up her crying toddler and bounced him up and down on her hip.

"I didn't do anything!" Illumi retorted in return. But Kikyo wasn't listening to her other son. The one who garnered the unsightly gazes of the guests around him. It was all an eyesore to her. She commanded a butler to take Illumi to his room to think about what he has done. The butler went to take Illumi way, but Illumi began fuming and screaming from the top of his lungs when the same butler from this morning's 'electrotherapy' training session approached him. He didn't want to be touched by them.

This infuriated his mother that much more; she yanked Illumi by the hair on his head and hissed into his ear, "do not be an embarrassment."

Illumi cried the whole walk over when the butler led him to his room and locked him in it.

The little sniffling boy curled up into a ball on his bed and recounted every horrible memory that happened to him in the last few days. The way his mother and father looked at him with disdain, when his father called him a disappointment and his mother calling him an embarrassment at the party. Illumi cried out loud, "Nobody loves me." Tears and snot soaked into his blanket, but he didn't care about any of it. He wanted to blow a thousand boogers into his mother's kimono and then she would be sorry!

Illumi was trying so hard at the party to be on his best behavior, just like his mother and father wanted, and he was trying his best to be a better assassin even though he messed up (frequently) from time to time. He wanted his mother and father to tell him so, praise him on how hard he was working to impress them. He was doing all that he could to be the good boy they wanted him to be. Illumi lifted his hand out from the covers and brought it to his head.

His patted his head and cried softly. "You're a good boy, Illumi."

He wanted his mother to say those words. He wanted his father to do the same. He cried himself to sleep pretending they did.

It's a sad thing indeed that he cried himself to sleep, and even sadder that no one came to unlock his door that night either. He was forgotten. As most disappointments are. Illumi's eyelids slowly fluttered open, his eyes adjusting to the faded night light of the room.

He was still wearing his clothes and shoes from the party, but he wrapped himself around in a blanket like a cocoon and waddled to his bedroom window. It was dark outside.

It was night.

Illumi pushed a stool and knelt before the window. He gazed up to the sky and was thankful there was one star amongst the endless sea of black.

He folded his hands together and wished, "dear fairy godmother, I don't know if you're out there or if you can hear me—mother said only good children have fairy godmothers watching over them. I know I haven't been good lately, I disappointed father with another mission—again—he isn't happy about it, but I promise I'm trying my best, I really am. I promise I'm trying to be a good boy like mother wants me to be too—even though I hide whenever I'm supposed to get injections, but I promise I won't give mother any more trouble and just take them! So, if I try my best and make my parents happy, will you please…," Illumi clenched his hands tightly. "Will you please send me a friend?" Then he looked towards the night sky and apologized, blushing. "I'm sorry. I know it's a lot to ask for, and I know I really don't deserve it, but I'll never ask for anything else in my whole life!" He pleaded to the shining star in the night sky. "So, if you're out there, please, please send me someone special. Like an angel. The nicest one there is." Illumi stepped down from his stool then immediately mounted it again. Guilt swelled his heart. "I'm sorry, that's too much to ask, it doesn't have to be an angel, angels are too busy and I'm not good enough to have one…" He stepped down his stool, only to jump back on five seconds later. "But I will be good! That's a promise! I'll make mother and father proud and then I'll be deserving of the nicest angel you have, so please tell him that I'm looking forward to meeting him—and soon." Illumi stepped down from his stool and pulled it away from the window…only to push it back against the window again. "I'm sorry I keep coming back, but thank you for listening and goodnight, wherever you are."

And so, Illumi woke up the that morning and the next morning and the next morning after, hoping to find his new best friend. He no longer hid from his injections nor did he protest training from his father, he did everything a good Zoldyck child was supposed to do. But as the days flew by without any signs of a best friend, his hope began to dwindle.

Days flew by and so did months. And then years. With no sign of a friend or any notice from his fairy godmother, which supposedly all good children have.

Even though Illumi was trying so hard to appease his parents, he kept facing knew challenges testing his role as the future heir and failed many of them. Disappointing his parents many more times. He reasoned that he was not a good child and therefore, he was undeserving to have a friend.

Six years passed, and the household began to change with the joyful news from the Madame of the Zoldyck family. Kikyo was expecting her third child. A boy. Hope flickered in Illumi's heart. Nine more months was a long wait to meet his new best friend, but he had a feeling that this was finally it. It was everything he has been waiting for.

I do not need to be the one to break the news to you that Illumi couldn't be more wrong. Instead of finding friendship, he would learn just how much a little brother could truly hate an older brother. I also do not need to be the one to break the news to you that Illumi's life became that much worse in the years that followed. All these things come to you by no surprise whatsoever. Good. But what may come as a surprise to you is that Illumi never gave up on his dream, no matter how much his hope dwindled or how little he thought he deserved it. His best friend was out there in the world, somewhere, regardless of time, place, or circumstance. And if the universe wasn't going to bring it to him, he was going to find it himself.

I also do not need to break the news to you that this story does not have a happy ending. Neither for Illumi or for his soon-to-be (dead) best friend, who was currently making his way towards The Republic Padokia guided by the light of the last shining star in the endless night sky.

* * *

**A/N**: Thank you for reading chapter 2. Illumi was 6 years old in this chapter, and in chapter 3 he will be 12 years old (Killua will make his grand debut next chapter too :D ) I hoped you guys liked reading this chapter? No one reviewed the last chapter, so was it bad? I hope this one was a little better? It's discouraging when no one reviews, so please, little words of enoucragement would be great *thumbs up* Writing has become increasingly lonely as of late. So please review! And thank you to those who followed the fic.


	3. What a Wonderful World

A/N: Reminder to please review and here are the trigger warnings in this chapter: blood, guns, (very little) self harm, death

Age(s)

Illumi-12 years old

* * *

_To Oz: _

_You came after the rain,_

_But I was blinded by the storm. _

_How foolish I was not to notice you._

_From: Illumi _

* * *

**Chapter 3: What a Wonderful World**

It saddens me to welcome you back to this story when you could be doing other pleasant and happier things, since you will find none of that here. I warn you in your best interest as this sad tale gets sadder and sadder and sadder. In reading, you do so at your own risk, for I am not responsible for any states of melancholia, sorrow, or mild to uncomfortable indigestion. If you experience any of these dreadful states, then I implore you find a happier tale, or seek out your nearest gastroenterologist (which here means a person that can legally poke you in the gut.)

In the years you have been away, the most troublesome and regrettably unavoidable event has occurred.

Illumi has grown up and aged.

He is no longer a young boy of six years of age. He is no longer the little child who hides under dinner tables, ties unsuspecting victims' shoelaces together, or wishes for friends on make believe fairy godmothers or flaming balls of gas (better known by astrologists as stars, better known by Elodea as space farts.) He has reached the pinnacle, the heightened apex, of trouble and mischief and chaos, all compacted into one vile fiend. An adolescent. A preteen. Shudder with me. He is 12, leaning towards 13 years old. Whichever god you believe in, pray that it helps us all. For Illumi was an unpleasant boy and it is not a surprise that he grows into an even more unpleasant adult.

The story continues off in the scariest of circumstances.

A dream.

Specifically, a nightmare. For nightmares exist within our own minds and yet are uncontrollable. They twist and churn thoughts, pulling out our deepest fears against our will. We become prisoners to our own minds, and Illumi was no exception. Illumi couldn't escape his prison, not even in his dreams.

_Illumi was trapped._

_Tendrils of darkness swarmed around him. Constricting his body, closing around his neck. Like a boa constrictor ready to gorge its prey whole. The darkness pulled and pulled and pulled, making it a plight for him to even breath. Sucking in a breath was a trial of its own as the darkness burned against his skin. _

_Burning._

_He was burning._

_He was burning alive. _

_Tears welled in his eyes._

_Help._

_He needs help._

_He needs help or this will be the end of him._

_Fear shot through his body like a bolt of lightning—an emotion he was taught to harness for survival. There was no shame in fleeing from a battle, from running away, or from being a coward. _

_Because cowards want to live—Illumi wanted to live._

_By a miracle of chance when the tendrils of darkness loosened, he ran. _

_He ran for his life. _

_He ran and didn't look back._

_Familiar voices beckoned him to turn around. Voices of his mother. Voices of his father. Calling out to him. Demanding he obey them. They were cold and harsh and cruel. They swore words of kindness just as they spewed venom from their lips. Clawing for him to return to them._

_He kept running. His legs burned, yet he kept running._

_He'd damn his soul if he stopped running. _

_He ran to a gorge. An empty pit of darkness laid below his feet. He looked down and saw nothing. Bile rose in his gut as the realization of his failed escape ricocheted in his mind. There was no way out. His breathing quickened. Rasping. He pulled the roots of his obsidian black hair and cried out, blocking out his parents' approaching voices. _

_No no no no no—_

_Those voices were wild and untamed. If they came closer to him, they would do so much more than bite. _

_He looked out into the gorge of darkness. All he saw was black—an endless sea of pitch black._

_He loosened his grip around the roots of his hair. Beyond the black sea, a fog lifted. _

_There was a flat ledge. _

_His took control of his breathing as his mind clung onto that thread of hope. _

_Freedom._

_He steadied his legs. Tensed his muscles. All he ever wanted was on the other side. _

_The voices came. Rushing towards him. Faster until they were breathing down his neck. Before they could grab a hold of him, before the darkness could suffocate him—_

_He leapt. _

* * *

He leapt.

The world passed beneath his feet as he ran through the twists and turns and endless pits of Condaever Forest. The uneven ground did not deter him. The jagged rocks did not slow his steps. He was a fast as a viper and unseen as a crocodile lurking beneath the shifting, cruel waters.

But most of all, he was as quiet as a corpse.

No one in the forest knew he was here, and they never will.

He stopped and hid in the shade of a weeping willow tree. The swaying and drifting foliage provided him cover from potential guards roaming around Condaever Castle. Bangs brushed against his narrowed eyes, darker than ash, and surveyed the castle that laid before him. The old stone castle used to be a fortress, where prisoners of war were kept locked up like swine in cages. Rats were treated better than the prisoners were, at least they had something to eat (albeit it was the prisoners.) But Illumi didn't care about the treatment of either creatures, they were one and the same to him. Without war there are no prisoners or rebels or drunkards to thrust behind bars. Hundreds of years of peace turned the fortress into a dilapidated husk of what it used to be. Illumi wondered how many men were hanged from the balconies that were now used as an outdoor restaurant. He saw waiters clad in white and black carry elaborate silver dishes to tables. One waiter unveiled the silver doom off one dish, and it revealed a delectable looking quiche, with a golden yellow interior and a crispy brown crust with crumbs breaking off the sides.

The waiter pulled a torch from behind his back and roasted the quiche into a flaming ball of blue fire—sapphire and opal and indigo melded together into a burning blanket of wildfire—a feast of fire. The flame soon died out, leaving the soft, cheesy interior glistening succulently on the silver dish. The occupants of the dinner clapped at the waiter and the waiter displayed no trace of humility as he mocked a bow, tossed the torch, which spun a few times in the air, then caught it behind his back and posed with it as the table went wild for his act.

Illumi rolled his eyes. This fortress used to be feared. Grown men would even break down to nothing more than miserable sobs as they passed through the iron gates. Great men and women walked up the stairs to the hanging noose during the fortress's golden age; traitorous generals, rebellious soldiers, corrupted kings, evil queens, mad killers, cunning thieves—all were fluent in the art of darkness. Untamable and wild. But now the fortress fell from grace. It was turned into a classless and unsightly abomination, but mostly a clever trap that preyed on the masses.

A hotel.

(Albeit a very expensive one.) A hotel that housed clowns instead of prisoners.

How the mighty have fallen.

But Illumi wasn't here to give commentary on the disgraceful state of the fortress. He came here for one purpose only, and it was not to taste the quiche.

He was hired to kill. Albeit, it was the only reason he ever went out into the world nowadays. The only reason his parents would let him leave the estate. His freedom cost someone's life. Oh, how he relished it. To free himself from the darkness that constricted him. To breathe the fresh air of the outside world, instead of the stuffy air of the Zoldyck manor. The manor…it was an open casket. Reeking with the rotting stench of the dead. The dead that keeps piling up. High.

The pile is high. The pile is still rising. And he was the reason why.

Did he care?

Frankly, no. He did not care about the rising death toll he himself is to blame. He is an assassin, heir to his family's dark legacy, the weight of this duty is his to carry and pass on like his forefathers have done—this is his life. And he would make his forefathers proud. Proud enough to not strike up the whip against him. There is nothing he could change about it, other than carry on with what he is already doing very well, if Illumi could boast about it.

And he would keep killing, if it meant more time away from home. From _them_.

If that was the cost of his freedom. Then so be it. He would pay the fee—every time.

Condaever Castle laid next to a large lake, which led to a waterfall. The raptures of the waterfall screamed as Illumi neared closer to the castle.

He saw a guard on patrol. The guard turned his back.

Illumi pounced. Silence was his deadliest weapon.

Illumi may have only been 12 years old, but he had the strength of a lion, bearing all his teeth and claws. Ready to make the kill. One man—one petrified guard—unfortunately did not stand a chance against him. Illumi reared a knife towards the man's neck. The side of the blade was held beneath the man's chin. Once, Illumi was terrified of holding blades, or blades against people's throats. But Silva and Kiyko have taught him many things. Taught him fears he should harness and ones he should throw away. Illumi wasn't scared of blades. No. The blade was an extension of himself. And Illumi was quite deadly.

"Scream and you die." Illumi spoke those deadly words quietly. Cruelly. He isn't a stranger to the dark. Words spoken by him—words spoken to him. Words are powerful and can cut just as much as actions. He has grown far too used to insidious words and they slide off his tongue with delicate ease. Threats came as second nature to him. Might as well use them.

The man screamed a muffled cry as loud as he could beneath the child's hand that was covering his mouth.

The man wasn't listening to him. That tends to happen with Illumi. This doesn't happen with Silva. Whenever his father gives commands, people obey perfectly. Sometimes they even gag themselves or throw themselves off bridges under Silva's orders. Silva was feared and obeyed. Illumi—well he had the fear factor down but his victims rarely obeyed. Illumi blamed his age, his innocence made him too sweet looking, he thought. Another guard heard the cry and went to grab his gun. Aimed at Illumi's head. Oh well, when words failed, actions provided.

Illumi slit the man's throat without so much as a second thought.

And focused on the armed guard.

Tears welled down the deceased man's eyes as blood poured down his neck, staining his uniform. Illumi let go of the man as he fell down like a rag doll with a thud. The corpse laid in an awkward position, with his head arched backgrounds from landing on a rock beneath him. Blood pooled into a dark and muddy puddle. A mosquito flew over its surface.

Before the other dimwitted guard could truly take aim at the assassin's head, Illumi already got to him. The young boy shattered the man's wrist and the gun clattered to the ground. The boy yanked the hair of the man's head by the roots and pointed it towards the direction of the corpse guard.

A powerful gesture that screamed: _This is what you shall become if you don't listen to me._

The man dared to shut his eyes, tight. But ice, cold fear froze them open. A cloud of mosquitos loomed over the corpse. Gorging themselves greedily.

The soaked blade slowly reached towards the man's neck as Illumi crooned, softly. "Are you a better listener than your friend?" The guards were acquaintances at best, but 'friend' was the first word that came into Illumi's mind. He didn't know why, but he wasn't going to correct himself.

The petrified man bit the inside of his cheek. Stifling a cry. He nodded. Slowly.

Good.

"The code." Illumi husked. He planned to enter the castle through one of the back doors. It was better to sneak in legally just as the guests do than tipping off the entire alarm system that he forced his way through or worse, break a window into one of the guest rooms. The thought of greeting people through their bedroom windows did not appease him. The more awkward encounters he could avoid with people, the better. Illumi liked the outside world—but he also hated people. This put him in a tight conundrum and made being an assassin difficult at times, considering it was a people-esque type of job, but Illumi didn't have to worry about the dead remembering who he was since any remembrance of awkward encounters were entirely forgotten after the killing blow. "The code to get into the employee entrance of the castle. Tell me."

The guard mumbled.

"Tell me and you won't die." Illumi bore the blade against the man's skin. Blood dripped.

The guard sputtered out the code through trembling lips. "94E…67B…17P. P-please don't kill me."

Illumi hated it when his victims stuttered. It was harder to understand what they were saying otherwise. And he would have to ask again—which was a drag. The boy smiled. "Thank you."

The man sighed, relieved.

Illumi slit his neck.

And the guard fell upon the corpse, spilling more blood into the hot crimson pool, and the mosquitos rejoiced as Illumi made his way into the castle.

* * *

The code the guard passed onto Illumi was correct. He made it into the Castle through the back employee entrance when no one was looking. His steps were quiet, and he was unseen. Just like how his father taught him to tread.

Illumi was given free reign go on missions by himself. Silva nor Zeno monitored him from a safe, yet far away distance anymore. Illumi had to make less and less mistakes to earn him that freedom, and in turn they were proud of him. They trusted Illumi—and that made him happy to earn their approval after failing so many times before.

He walked past the foyer, shoving his hands in his pockets as guests passed by him. He looked down at the carpet floor and stared at the intricate patterns not minding the people. Hoping they didn't mind him. He felt his cheeks flair when they passed by him, if only for a second nor caring about the little boy with his hands stuffed in his pockets. Illumi released a breath he didn't know he was holding when they turned the corner. The guests talked about heading to the swimming pool and possibly the hot tub after dinner on the balcony. Their voices quieted and Illumi resumed his mission.

Because this was a fancy (and ludicrously expensive) hotel, the owner had to show off how fancy it truly was to convince their guests that putting money in the owner's bank account is a good investment, and that their money was well spent, of course. So the walls were decorated with paintings and portraits that only the snobbishly rich would own in chateaus or finely refurbished bathrooms with fluffy cushions on the toilet seats. The art was chosen, not only to make the hotel look like an art exhibit, but to make the guests think as they are walking past one. An abstract painting should make a person feel good as they try to decipher what the artist intended when painting it. The guest then feels satisfied that they've figured something out, which then puts them in a good mood, which then leads them to potentially tipping the staff a little more than a stick of gum. Paintings, among other things, held power.

The painting Illumi passed by was a copy of the real _Sacrifice of Isaac_ by Caravaggio. The only thought that passed through Illumi's head was that it was a cheap imitation and should be taken down. Illumi saw the knife Abraham pressed against Isaac's throat. Illumi saw Isaac's eyes as they screamed out for help—help from anyone of any kind. Illumi saw a father bear a knife towards his son, ready to make the killing blow.

Illumi narrowed his obsidian eyes to Isaac's. Almost identical. Not only the color—but the fear pounding within them. They were both sons that feared the wrath of their father.

Something changed in Illumi's eyes. Something dark.

Maybe Isaac disobeyed his father, and this was divine retribution. This was God's punishment for Isaac's disobedience. The knife. The blood. The sacrifice. The punishment Isaac had to endure. Isaac deserved it. But Illumi was smart. He listened to his father. He obeyed his father. He did not deserve punishments because he was good. Illumi was not Isaac.

Illumi turned away from the insidious painting and carried on. He has a kill to make.

It was only when he turned the corridor, when he felt those screaming eyes finally stopped following him.

* * *

If you are still reading, pardon me for interrupting, but allow me to forewarn you. Illumi was skilled in the art of darkness, yes this is true, these teachings were passed to him from his father then from his father and then from his father again. Illumi is the heir to the family. By the laws of nature, it is his birthright that his parents cannot deny him. But if his parents were given a choice of the matter outside of these laws—

They would choose differently.

And today's mission marked a day in Illumi's life that they fervently thought so and attached the word 'disappointment' above his head. It is a word that stuck and will stick to him for majority of his life.

Soon, you will know precisely why. Turning your eyes away is strongly advised.

Illumi made it to the fourth floor.

The target's room was the last room on the right.

Presidential suite overlooking the shimmering waterfall beneath the moonlight night. It was breathtaking, it was large, it was isolated from the rest of the guest rooms—it was perfect for murder.

The old stone floors were covered with carpets. Illumi imagined that no matter how hard they tried to clean the blood off the stones they wouldn't come out. On the stone floors at home—they don't. The butlers can get most of the blood stains out, but a faint trace still remains. Like a shadow, and shadows never disappear. His father's blood. His grandfather's blood. His brother's blood.

Illumi's blood.

_A family bleeds together_, his mother says. Illumi shooed his mother's words away. They were annoying.

Illumi gripped his fists inside his pockets. His blood won't be shed today. He was sure of it. He knew he would reign triumphant today. He will live while someone else will die. The strong survive.

And Illumi was strong.

His set his sights on the fourth floor, the last room on the far right side—the presidential suite.

Illumi will live.

No matter how much he suffers.

He will always live.

He picked the lock of the door and quietly he let himself in. He slithered inside like a snake, unnoticed, and welcomed the darkness that embraced him.

The room was dark.

The balcony doors were open, and the night air flooded the room. The cool, gentle breeze wafted through the curtains, and sent them fluttering with ease. The white, translucent curtains almost looked like ghosts. White arms stretching out towards him. Beckoning him to come closer.

The room was empty.

His target wasn't here.

He might as well look around until then.

An assassin wasn't supposed to leave a trace that they've entered a room—any room. But Illumi was smart. And bored.

And he didn't feel like mindlessly waiting until his kill arrived.

He pulled his sleeves further down his hands and used his jacket as a barrier between his hands and the objects he was snooping through. He opened an expensive looking jar that contained absolutely nothing. A gilded and gold phonograph was atop of a stone pillar that reached his height. There was already a record on the machine, which was just as ancient as his great grandfather. Illumi knew how they worked, so he cranked the lever and placed the stylus on the record—and listened.

_I see trees of green, red roses too. I see them bloom for me and you. And I think to myself what a wonderful world _

Hm.

It is What a Wonderful Word by Louis Armstrong. He's heard his great grandfather listen to this song before.

As the music played, he twirled a cake rack that held little ornate candies in different types of tinfoil wrapping. One wrapper was blue, another was violet, and another was a deep shade of indigo with swirls of black. Curiosity intrigued him and he unwrapped the third candy, which revealed a chocolate ball sprinkled with some type of crushed nuts. He brought it closer to his nose and sniffed it. Almonds?

Illumi shrugged and plopped the candy into his mouth. Chewing until he cracked the center, and immediately regretted it.

He gave a sour face. It was horrendous. It was revolting! It was the most disgusting candy he has ever eaten.

It was coconut flavored.

Yuck.

He spit out the candy, very ungentle-like, back into the wrapper and folded it up. Wiping his hands on the sides of his jacket, he knew right away he had to get rid of the evidence. He stopped a moment and thought he shouldn't put it back on the cake rack. That would be rude and too obvious someone has been snooping. He looked around. Took two steps back. And tossed the candy into the expensive looking jar.

No one was going to miss that piece of candy anyway. Or check the jar. Hopefully.

He walked around some more, walked among the black curved lines that marked the marble floor and played that game until he walked into a wall. He groaned. Ahhhhh, he was so bored. When was his stupid target going to come back to the room anyway? Illumi should have planned for this. Eventually he became anxious. Did he even have the right room? He couldn't have been in someone else's, right? He raised his snooping skills to the next level and ransacked (ever so neatly if that was even possible) the target's drawers. There were boring things like pants and shirts and a handful of underwear that Illumi didn't dare to touch. Illumi hummed in excitement as he found a flip phone in the drawer. Illumi examined the phone with genuine curiosity. The phone was thin and light and shone with a mat red. He buzzed with excitement as he flipped open the phone with the flick of his wrist. The screen and number dials beamed with a synthetic white light. He smiled. He pressed the dial buttons without purpose. Pressing for the joy of just pressing. He knew right away his target was a dull and boring man from the lack of mobile games. There was just chess and solitaire. Old men games.

Soon after, Illumi slumped his shoulders and grumbled miserably.

Mother wouldn't let him have his own phone. She says he's not ready for the responsibility yet. That was a load of Sugar-Honey-Ice-Tea. (He heard that in a movie, the one with talking animals and the delusional dancing lemur. He didn't dare utter the real bad word. Illumi was above cussing.) Illumi had the next best thing close to a phone.

A beeper.

Illumi pulled out his beeper and placed it next to the phone, immediately comparing the two. Then immediately hating it. His beeper didn't have any fun things like games, and he couldn't message anyone either—except his parents. Ew. His beeper was ancient and unsightly next to the cell phone. He wished it would just combust into flames.

Upon close inspection. This room did belong to his target. The phone had the target's name and pictures in the gallery folder. A man in his late sixties. There weren't that many pictures. There were none of him smiling either. He looked like an unhappy man, sitting in an unhappy office, with an even unhappier business partner that wanted him dead beside him (be wise when picking business partners, they may hate the idea of a co-partnership.) Not even a Sugar-Honey-Ice-Tea load of money could make a person happy. There were no pictures that indicated he has a close family either—

It was probably for the best.

The camera flashed. Capturing a picture of Illumi. How did he even do that? He didn't even know what button he pressed. But more importantly, how does he delete it?

Illumi flipped the phone closed.

Opened.

Closed.

Opened.

Closed once more.

Opened again.

Closed again!

The picture was still there on the screen!

And it wasn't even a nice one. With his mouth gaping open in surprise and his eyes partially closed. Ugh.

He kept flipping the phone with such vigor that he greatly underestimated his strength and the fragility of modern technology—the phone snapped in half. The half of which flew into the fish take adjacent from him. It plunged into the tank with a splash and the fish swam away from the foreign object in a panic. The screen twitched and the light flickered, freezing the last image taken on the phone.

Illumi's face.

Sugar-Honey-Ice-Tea.

Illumi covered his mouth with his hands and just stood there in mortified shock. He's dead. He's a dead man. There is now hardcore evidence that someone was in this room. It was a shoddy picture, but it would sell for millions of Jenny on the black market. The entire underworld will have a picture of the little Zoldyck Assassin. He needs to get a hold of that picture. Now.

The tank was too large, it stretched far higher than Illumi would reach down into. He pressed his nose against the glass and his breathing fogged the glass. An angel fish swam close to his face then jerked backed as if it was horrified to see truly see him and take in his scowling face.

"I don't like you either." Illumi muttered to the fish that was now on the other side of the tank. Think. Think. Think. Illumi grabbed a stool, stepped on it, rolled up his sleeve, and plunged his arm into the tank. Thankfully, these fish didn't have sharp teeth or craved much more than pet store fish food. The fish moved out of his way as his arm moved further down in the tank. Water was up to his shoulder. His jacket was soaked, and the left side of his face brushed against the water. His fingertips barely touched the phone. Just a little more. Just one more streeeeetch.

Suddenly, something caught in the phonograph and caused the record to screech. Playing a single note in a repetitive cycle. Broken.

Illumi grabbed it!

The door opened.

Illumi's eyes widened just as big as his target's as they dumbfoundedly stared at each other. Each not knowing what to make of the situation. The old man stood in the doorway wearing his swimming trunks and a pair of white slippers. What little remained of his hair was soaked, and he had a towel draped around his shoulders. He probably went to the pool or hot tub. The man didn't know what to think when he saw Illumi practically taking a swim of his own in the fish tank.

"…Hello." The man wasn't sure what to say. He wasn't sure how to act.

"…Hello." Illumi returned. His cheeks flared red. Not moving an inch of his body, Illumi crushed the phone within his hand. A loud crunch broke the silence and echoed through the room. Pieces of plastic plopped into the fish tank.

A spark in the man's eyes flickered. His stare narrowed. "Is that my phone?"

It was. "No."

"What are you doing here?"

There was a long pause. Illumi couldn't talk. Something caught in his throat. This thought played on repeat in his mind just like the broken record player in the room._ Kill him, kill him, kill him. kill him now._

"Where are your parents?" Anger began to boil from the target. "I'm calling the manager; this is the last time I use this hotel." The man turned back to the hall, ready to voice a complaint, ready to tell everyone Illumi is here.

Illumi didn't know what happened next, only that there was blood.

And a lot of it.

* * *

There was a lot of blood. His kill was messy. There was evidence the man was murdered by human hands. Small hands. Childlike hands. Illumi's fingerprints were on the body. He was stepping in a pool of blood right now. The nearby carpet was stained, and his footprints left marks where he paced. He couldn't clean this all up.

His breath began to quicken. His chest became tight. Anxiety rose in his throat as he grabbed the sleeves of his jacket, forcefully willing himself to calm down. This wasn't how his kill was supposed to go. He frantically paced. Where his footsteps staggered, blood prints remained. He froze in place as soon as he realized. _No no no no no._ His knees buckled and he grasped them. He shut his eyes so tightly as if he could block everything out of his mind's eye.

What will mother and father think?

He messed up.

He messed up another mission. Again. Mother and father were already growing impatient with him. If they didn't think he was a ready for a cell phone, what does this say about him as heir?

Thoughts ricocheted in his head like a fired musket ball in a sealed chamber.

What will they do to him when they find out? How long will the pain last? What will they probe and cut and whip of him this time? The last time Illumi screwed up so badly—Illumi unconsciously reached his back and suddenly the healed scars began to ache—

His breath hitched. His voice sobbed.

_No no no no no—_

Illumi wasn't Isaac. He didn't want to be.

Illumi opened his eyes. Slowly. He stared into the pool of blood that was quickly surrounding his feet. His shoes—would the stain come out?

He needs to clean up the mess.

He knew how.

* * *

The fire alarm rang.

There was a fire rapidly growing on the fourth floor coming from the presidential suite. Illumi sprint from the hallway and ran to the nearest exit. He swung open the doors of the stairway and planned to jump down them.

Until he saw the stairway was crowded. By two individuals. Who were doing much more than running to safety. He saw a man and a woman whose legs were tangled around the man.

Her stockings were not on her legs, but on the staircase. Far from her legs. They were linen.

They both stared at Illumi in shock.

Illumi mumbled an apology and shut the door fiercely.

He then decided he was going to take the elevator. A choice no one should ever dare make when there is a fire in a building, but Illumi already pressed the button and the doors already opened for him.

Illumi did not possess a thing called luck (he never once did) because when he jumped into the elevator, the residents within in immediately jumped out when they saw him—soaked in blood.

They ran away screaming. Rightfully so.

Illumi rolled his eyes, "like they never saw blood before." Everyone was sensitive these days, he thought to himself. The doors shut, and against his wishes, the elevator took him straight up to the balcony where when the doors opened, he was greeted by men who were the size of bears or bears who were the size of very big men, with loaded guns.

They knew he was responsible for the murder, the fire, or both. Maybe it was the excessive amount of blood all over this body that gave him away.

The darkness in Illumi's eyes deepened. His eyes, the color of scorched ash, flickered with embers that ravaged the burning wood. Raging a wildfire within his gaze.

He has another mess to clean.

* * *

Illumi was growing tired and weary and these men weren't like his soft and weak target from before. No. These men were strong, trained in combat, had years of experience that overshadowed Illumi—some dropped like flies, while other's wouldn't die that easily.

Illumi moved fast as a rain of bullet's followed his ever step—like a shadow. Always glued to him. One round of bullets after the other stalked him. Like a cloud of mosquitos that wouldn't go away.

He snapped a neck of one and flung the corpse at another guard.

His lost his knife when one guard ripped it from his hands and used it against him—plunging it into his leg. Illumi bottled up his screams—he needed to escape.

The guns ceased firing, yet the guards kept pulling the trigger. An empty clicking sound was all that emitted from the death machine.

They ran out of bullets.

Illumi's legs buckled. He was so—so tired. He didn't want to fight anymore.

He needed to escape, but where to?

He limped towards the edge of the balcony and looked down onto the water, which was covered in an endless, thick fog. Now that the guards ceased firing, he could hear the running raptures of the waterfall. It was deafening.

He could jump.

But was the water shallow, where there rocks down below, and would he just be falling to his death? Was there something he could throw to test it out?

As Illumi was thinking, a man seized him from behind and Illumi twisted and turned the man's own weight against him and plunged the man off the balcony and into the uncertain watery grave down below.

Illumi listened as the screaming man fell.

There was a splash.

Illumi waited.

There was silence.

Then a voice from down below cursed Illumi's existence as the voice was swept away by the currents.

Illumi smiled. It was safe enough.

He leapt from the balcony and fell down into the thick fog.

Colliding with the icy water that repeatedly stabbed his skin just as much as his own knife did.

* * *

Illumi harnessed nen around his body to lessen the impact of the fall, but the cold running water that collided against him in all directions, that pummeled him against the rocks, that ripped him from the bare branches to try and pull himself out—he lost his concentration and the nen around his body faded away until it was as thin as an egg shell. Another blow could crack it into pieces.

Illumi's head plunged up from the water and he sucked in short, raspy breathed. His leg, still embedded with the knife, collided against a rock—and he screamed.

It was almost as if his screaming was hideous and unsightly to listen to that the river pulled him under and drowned him out.

Finally he resurfaced, and his eyes widened in absolute horror as the running raptures of the waterfall neared. Water fell from the fall and plummeted in the lake below. If his parents weren't going to kill him, then this devil's cliff would.

Sugar-Honey-Ice-Tea.

He prayed that there weren't any sharp rocks at the bottom as he fell with the water, but he figured that God wasn't listening as the raptures drowned out his prayer just like the waterfall did to his screams.

* * *

Unlike the waterfall, the lake was serene and placid. Illumi floated to the shore and barely crawled his way on it. He was lucky he survived. He figured he was good at it, considering he was always playing a dangerous game between life and death. He better be good at surviving if he's forced to continue playing this game.

His limbs felt heavy as he hauled himself onto the shore out of the water. It wasn't sand, it wasn't even rocks, no, it was mud. The shore was soil and slime and mud. His body sunk and sloshed through the grime. His clothes were sullied with mud but at least the blood was gone—eh more like covered with soil. Illumi had to look at the bright side. Then he forgot entirely about any bright side as he saw the knife protruding from his thigh.

He had to get it out.

Illumi rolled up his T shirt—his abdomen revealed faded scars—and bit into a wad of muddy cloth and while his other hand grabbed a hold of the handle. He counted down from 10 and braced himself.

He pulled the knife out and screamed with his mouth full of mud and cloth. It was a shame he didn't have a clean bandage to wrap around his wound other than a ripped muddy piece of his shirt, but it was all he had.

And he was taught to make do with what he had.

No matter how much he hated it.

As Illumi stared into the sky, night turning into morning, he imagined he could still hear the lyrics of that old song playing on the phonograph…what a wonderful world.

He wondered if that was true. If the world was really wonderful…to those who weren't bleeding in the mud, the world may have looked that way.

* * *

Illumi limped into the city. Clothes muddied. Hair disheveled. He looked like a zombie that rose from the grave—and people treated him as such.

Still, the song played in his head, for reasons he didn't know why, as he walked and walked and walked.

_I see skies of blue and clouds of white. The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night. As I think to myself what a wonderful world. _

Illumi passed by clouds of smoke and exhaust from cars and buses. Dirtying the air and tearing his eyes. The city streets were filled with a permanent gray cloud that hung low in the sidewalks. It was impossible to see bright skies of blue or what even laid beyond in the distance.

_The colors of the rainbow so pretty in the sky. Are also on the faces of people going by. I see friends shaking hands saying how do you do. They're really saying I love you._

Illumi saw someone get mugged.

_I hear babies cry, I watch them grow. They'll learn much more, then I'll never know. And I think to myself what a wonderful world. _

Illumi stopped and stared into a diner and saw a scene that had him holding his breath.

It was a family.

They were smiling and eating. They were a big and happy family. There was even a boy, who looked to be Illumi's age. The boy's smile was radiant as a birthday cake was placed in front of him by a waiter. The family was clapping—and singing too, Illumi couldn't hear but he could tell they were—as the boy blew out his candles.

_Yes, I think to myself what a wonderful world. _

Illumi's stomach grumbled and his mouth watered for something—anything—to get rid of the lingering taste of mud in his mouth. His eyes ogled the cake, it was chocolate flavored covered with chocolate icing and on top there were the fattest strawberries he has ever seen, and a strawberry jam glistened from the inside as the cake as it was cut. A slice for each member of the family.

A man from the inside of the diner, who seemed to be the father, noticed Illumi staring at them. Illumi flinched in surprise and wondered—

The man closed the blinds of the window.

They shut Illumi out of their happy family scene.

Oh.

Illumi walked onward. That was to be expected. No one likes to be stared at… or share their cake. The day couldn't possibly get worse—

Rain began pouring from the skies, and as people opened their umbrellas or hurried towards shelter, Illumi just stood where he was and thought how the world wasn't as wonderful as it was sung to be. For him, at least.

The air was chilled, and he needed warmth. The only place to not turn him away was the church. Even they can't turn away the homeless, vagabonds—or a little assassin in need of shelter.

* * *

There was a service going on. At least, that's what Illumi deduced as people knelt down at their pews and lowered their heads to god or the priest (Illumi wasn't entirely certain.) The priest in turn sung in a foreign tongue—Greek—and doused the crowd with holy water with a bundle of some sort of herbs.

Illumi winced. He came into the church to get dry, not wet. If he wanted to get wet, he would have stayed outside. Therefore, Illumi sat in the farthest pew in the back of the church, far away from the priest dousing water at the parishioners.

Illumi's ears perked up when the priest began to speak in English. So it was a dual liturgy? Illumi lowered his head on the arm of the pew, close to the heater. The pew was cushioned, and the air was warm, and he began to drift to sleep. Illumi chuckled when the priest spoke of good will and solidarity and kindness. Like any of that was true.

A parishioner looked behind herself and narrowed her eyes at Illumi for laughing at the priest. She looked at him, and all that mud, and saw how sullied and unkempt he was—she moved a pew away from Illumi, as if he was a germ she would unknowingly catch and make herself sick.

Illumi would laugh at her face too, but he was conserving his energy. The priest then said something groundbreaking, to which Illumi has never heard before. "God forgives everyone, for what are we, but sinners. Even the damned are welcomed back into God's flock. He never stops reaching out to us, even when we no longer want to reach out to him. His love is unconditional and never-ending-" Illumi tuned out of the liturgy soon after this speech. Illumi wasn't sure what he believed in, but if there was a God then surely it didn't love him….

Maybe his life was punishment for all the sins he and his family have committed. If the priest or parishioners knew exactly what Illumi was and what he could do…they'd do more than politely ask him to leave.

He shooed the thought out of his head for he was very tired and not in the mood to think foul thoughts.

He would rest for a while and then catch a bus to Kukuroo Mountain…and go home.

A growing pain curdled inside of him at the thought. He shushed it away as he fell asleep. Yet the nightmares came back and swallowed him while.

* * *

When he awoke, he was covered in a cold sweat. The parishioners were gone, and the priest was no longer at the altar.

Illumi saw a woman leaving a confessional—he knew what those were.

Illumi gulped. He steadied his hand on the pew in front of him and lifted himself up. The pain in his leg was getting worse. He probably had an infection from mud seeping into his open wound at Condaever Castle. The confessional was empty.

Illumi closed the door behind him and sat down. He saw a shifting figure behind the tinted screen. That was probably a priest, or a nun. Does it matter if one or the other listens to him? For a long moment, Illumi didn't say anything. He knew what to say, but he was scared to say it.

"Hello, anyone there?" The priest called. Yup, that was definitely a priest. Then Illumi wondered why women can't be priests, or why men can't be nuns. He didn't understand church hierarchy, but he didn't step into the confessional to discuss that.

"I'm here." Illumi mumbled, softly.

The priest chuckled.

Illumi's cheek's flushed. Did Illumi say something funny? "Did I…say something funny?" God forbid if he offended a priest.

"No, my boy. It occurred to me that it would be marvelously easy if the Lord always talked to us this way. When we need help, guidance, or simply want to talk, we ask if he is in fact there listening to us and he says promptly, 'I'm here!' in return. People would feel more at ease, I think, what do you think?"

This caught Illumi off guard. He didn't expect to actaully talk to the priest. He thought a confessional was just letting all your feelings go, the priest does their magical religious sign of the cross 'god forgives you' mumbo gumbo and Illumi sprints out of there feeling renewed. But talking made him anxious. He looked up at the tinted screen, somehow it eased him not being able to see the man's face. Not being able to see the eyes that would judge his soul. Illumi mumbled. "I guess so."

"What I would give for it to be that easy!" The priest said it with such vigor that Illumi snorted out loud. The priest laughed in response.

"I thought all priests talk to God? Hear his voice, or see him?" Illumi asked. Whether it was god or a hallucination, Illumi thought it was something they put in the incense to 'enlighten' them. That's what Uncle Yomi told Illumi. But Uncle Yomi was an idiot. And a drug addict.

The priest hummed. "We hear God's voice no louder than the lay do."

"Then how do you know he's even there?"

"Because God is everywhere."

This confused Illumi. "Even if you can't see or hear him?"

"Even if he we can't see or hear him." The priest agreed.

This sounded eerily similar to what his father told him about handling missions—and killing prey. Illumi wondered if Silva went to church and stole that teaching.

Illumi mumbled.

"Sorry, but speak up, my boy."

Illumi stared at his folded hands, at the mud flacking off his skin. "During the service…does God really forgive everyone?"

The priest told him yes. "Tell me your sins and God will forgive you."

"I've never confessed before…Am I not allowed to be here because my family isn't Christian?"

The priest disagreed. "Everyone is welcome in the house of God. The doors are always open if you wish to step inside."

Illumi gripped his hands, nervous. His heart thrashed inside his chest. He thought of his mother and father, and everything they did to him. He thought of the tears and pain and torture. He thought of hell they out him through in the name of love.

He told the priest everything.

* * *

The world crashed down unto Illumi.

When Illumi was finished, tears welled and spilled from his eyes. He didn't know talking about his pain would bring him to tears. He thought he was fine with it, but he guessed not as he wiped away his tears with his muddied jacket. Illumi carefully omitted the details of him being an assassin and murdering lives, but he told the priest everything else. He spoke of his terror, his fear, the monsters that plague him at home. Everything.

The priest didn't say anything.

Illumi wasn't sure if he crossed a line or if God was going to damn him himself rather than forgive him.

"Are you there?" Illumi asked, cries still evident in his voice.

"That," the priest spoke softly, "that was a beautiful confession."

Illumi flinched, "why?"

"Because it cost you everything."

The tears fell from Illumi's eyes. Unleashing all that pain… It did. It did cost him everything.

"They will not hurt you anymore."

Illumi nodded, sniffling.

Illumi was confused when the priest began to move. "You're safe now. Wait here, I need to call child services and report this—"

"No," Illumi panicked. What will happen to his family? They will be ruined because of him!

"Don't be afraid of them ever hurting you again. I won't let them." The priest left the confessional and walked briskly to his office, indeed, to call child services and save Illumi from his abusive household. This wouldn't be the first time the priest has done this. Though, this was the worst case he has ever heard. It took all the bravery the child possessed to come forward with it. It was a miracle the child was still alive.

Illumi's breath began to quicken. He leaned forward, curling his back and grabbed the hairs of his head. _Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. _

He hit his own head. Once. Twice.

The pain. It throbbed. It ached.

He deserved it.

He pressed his fingers against his head and prevented himself from shaking. What has he done? What has he done? What has he done? Illumi couldn't treat his family like this? The pain…the torture…it is only because he doesn't listen at times, only because he makes mistakes at times…And they lessoned! Yes! Illumi has made fewer mistakes in the past months, so his punishments were fewer! Even father congratulated him on improving so much!

If Illumi isn't the heir, then who else will be?

He can't…He can't throw away everything he was trained since birth for…if he does…then all the training…all the pain….it is worth nothing if he throws it all away now!

His parents will think they betrayed them. They'll come after him, not just to return home, but to make sure he never leaves. Permanently.

Fear shot through Illumi faster than a bolt of lightning. Illumi ran out of the church before the priest came back to ask him his name. He arrived on time to get on his bus and went straight home. During the ride, Illumi thought of what the priest said. Of God and forgiveness. Illumi knew there was no point going to the confessional and talking to the priest.

God wasn't going to forgive him anyway.

* * *

The rage of the storm finally calmed when Illumi opened the testing gate—the first three. One day, when he is heir, he will open all the gates. That was the dream instilled by his father to him. To be the heir. That is all Illumi is to want out of life.

If his father wanted him to be the heir—then he will be the heir.

Illumi's head pulsed and his vision blurred.

His steps were weak and uneven.

The pain in his leg throbbed and burned and ached. It was an infection. Illumi knew what they felt like.

The world spun and Illumi grabbed onto the side of a tree to balance himself. He placed a hand over his forehead and felt the heat.

He has a fever too.

He almost cussed because of it.

He pushed himself off the bark and limped towards the manor house.

Sweat drenched from his brow. _Almost there. Almost there. Almost there._ Soon he saw the first gateway leading to the house. The one patrolled by a butler. The first human line of defense in the estate.

Illumi worried that he'd look weak in the eyes of the butler on patrol—but no one was there. The stone pillars and gravel pathway were his only company.

His cheeks were flushed red and his brain pounded inside of his skill. Rest. He wants rest and medicine for his wound.

Illumi took one step and then another.

He wants to lie in his bed.

He wants to eat a meal. A real meal.

He wants to clean the mud off his skin because he smells so foul—

Illumi took one step past the stone wall.

And there he saw on the other side of it, in the shade—was a boy. In a butler's uniform.

The boy—supposedly the butler on patrol—was sitting cross-legged on the ground with a pair of headphones covering his ears. He was tapping his fingers against the gravel and humming to the beat of the song he was listening to.

Despicable. The butler was supposed to be on duty, watching out for intruders and keeping watch for whoever enters the grounds. But this one, whose hair was black as ink, a deep black, as if a crown of midnight laid upon his head. This butler didn't care, and it showed.

Illumi didn't care to notice anymore features about the butler. He looked young—Illumi's age—and inexperienced. A flood of butlers always cycles though the manor. Some stay. Many of them don't last long enough to receive their first paycheck. This one here, who gave off a laid back attitude, would definitely not last.

Illumi looked straight ahead before the butler looked up to him. Illumi ignored him.

Unconsciously, he straightened his back, walked with a steadier pace, and stuffed his hands in his pockets. He walked as if he wasn't in pain. As if there was nothing wrong with him. Even with the acres of landscape before them, the Zoldyck's don't have room to look weak.

And when Illumi knew the eyes of the butler were no longer following him, he unraveled. He fell apart.

Illumi collapsed, back against the ground. The world was spinning and spinning and spinning, and it just wouldn't stop. Just like the phonograph that died in the fire he started back at the castle. Another mistake he would be punished for.

Illumi stared towards the bright blue sky.

He closed his eyes.

He opened them.

The world blurred so much; he couldn't make out the person hovering above him. The headphones were now around the boy's neck rather than his head. That black uniform was neat, yet the collar was loose. That bowtie all the butlers wear—this boy wore the white gem—entry level position. The butler's mouth moved, spoke words, but Illumi couldn't hear them. The boy's words fell onto death ears.

Illumi was fading into unconsciousness. His mind was slipping—falling further into sleep.

Illumi quietly uttered one word with his last breath before he blacked out.

"Shit."

* * *

**A/N:** Thank you for reading! Tell me that your favorite moment was, if any? This is a big biiiig biiiiiig chapter, and I hope y'all liked it. SO Killua didn't make his debut (I promise next chapter he will! This chapter would have been TOO long otherwise) But Oz did! uh, even though it was at the end and he didn't say anything buuuut next chapter he will interact with Illumi (THIS TIME I PROMISE XD)

I also mentioned two character names that might have seemed unfamiliar to you. 1) Elodea. Elodea is the OC main character in my main hxh fic Among the Water Weeds and I mentioned him for the fun of it (pls check out that fic if you haven't already :) ) 2. Yomi. Yomi is a new OC that will appear in the next chapter, I won't give anything away, but he is Illumi's uncle :3

Sooooo, Illumi tends to contradict himself and I hope that came across here LOL And please review, were there any scenes you liked? You can also ask questions too and I'm happy to answer them! Even one word of encouragement is lovely! Also, I just want to clarify that this fic is a m/m romance/tragedy.

See you next time!


	4. Red like Blood

_To Oz:_

_We have grown too cold._

_Me, not in your arms._

_You, in your grave._

_From: Illumi_

* * *

**Chapter 4: Red like Blood **

_Illumi was inside the chapel. It was groaning and moaning and wailing with the cries of unanswered prayers. He crossed the aisle as if he were a phantom, taking light and quiet steps in fear of waking the living. He was taught to possess the qualities of a ghost, ever since he was a little boy. To be seen and unheard. Unnoticed. Emotionless._ _He was a ghost with a beating heart. Destined to be a harbinger of death. _

_That's what his parents wanted him to be and he knew nothing else of the world to become anything other than a husk of a boy who could hold endless passions and dreams. _

_Illumi walked barefoot along the aisle, noticing black ashes scattered across it. The black ashes clung to his skin. Leaving footprints behind him as he neared closer to the white table clothed alter. A stone angel stood behind it, bearing its arms and wings open for Illumi. A façade of love and tenderness. _

_An arrow was pierced through its cold, stone heart. _

_Illumi walked to the alter, silently. _

_He stopped._

_He stared up at the angel, narrowing his eyes. He was not scared of it nor in awe of it nor would he be caught dead worshipping it. The Zoldycks were not taught to kneel before others, they were taught to bring others down on their knees before them. Illumi was an angel of darkness. A monster born with an insatiable desire and lust for destruction. A demon thriving on chaos. Mayhem was his muse, and death was his instrument to wield as he saw fit. To be an assassin… it was a role he convinced himself he would become accustomed too. He may not love it now…but he reasoned he would love it in time. He would fit the mold created by his father and mother and grandfather and all the Zoldycks that came before him. _

_He would become just as they envisioned him to be. _

_Only that thought brought him close to joy. _

_A gold goblet appeared on the tablecloth. The contrasting bright gold and pristine linen stung his eyes. It was uncomfortable to look at. Illumi held the goblet between his hands and brought it to his lips. Drinking the blood of Christ._

_Illumi's eyes widened in disgust as he spit out the holy wine as if he was a demon sizzled by holy water. The goblet clattered to the ground with an eerie clang and the red liquid spread across the aisle; the ashes soaking up the wine and turning into what looked like clumps of coagulated blood. Illumi rubbed his lips harshly with disgust. _

_That wasn't wine._

_It was blood—neither holy nor belonging to prophets. _

_It was his._

_The liquid—his blood—kept spilling from the goblet and soon the floor was unmistakably a sea of scarlet. Illumi's hands began to shake, the blood soaked into his skin and the stain wouldn't come out. He rubbed and rubbed and rubbed and rubbed like a madman, but the blood was still there._

_Murder stained his skin. _

_The blood rose to his ankles. The blood began to bubble. The blood took shape and form and lifeless creatures soon surrounded Illumi. Illumi looked dumfounded and confused, a little deer in headlights stunned by the unknown racing towards him. One by one the blood creatures pounced at him._

_And one by one Illumi struck them down. _

_Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill._

_That was all he knew how to do._

_He stood in the middle of the bloody massacre, huffing and breathing and panicking. Fear rose up his gullet when the creatures stood right back up, reviving after each fatal blow he released upon them._

_Sweat permeated his brow. His eyes were in a frenzy of wild fear and confusion—a petrified dear frozen where it stood. Marking where it would die. Why weren't these creatures dying? Why didn't they stay dead? WHY DO THEY KEEP COMING BACK AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN—_

_Why must he keep killing them? Will he have to kill forever? _

_A bloodied hand rose up from the sea of scarlet swirling beneath his feet. It yanked Illumi down with such a force he thought his leg would rip from his own body. He cried out in unadulterated pain. _

_Another hand grabbed the back of his head, pulling on his jet black hair, practically ripping it from his scalp. This forced Illumi to stare up at the stone angel statue. The reflection of the angel caught in the obsidian irises of his eyes. The angel stared into Illumi's soul and Illumi stared back._

_Why…_

_Why was the angel smiling? _

_Why was the angel laughing at him?_

_Why was it smirking at pain and suffering and death?_

_Illumi laid on a canvas of red as more of the blood creatures swarmed him. Illumi screamed and tried to pry away from them. He opened his mouth and cried—_

_Only for blood to shoot down his mouth and his throat. Choking him. _

_Illumi was red. The world was red. Everything was red. Red. Red. Red. _

_Tears streamed down his eyes._

_He choked a cry. _

_He was sick of the color red. He was sick of murder staining his hands. He was sick of festering in destruction. He was sick of leaving a trail of mayhem in his wake. He was sick of being an angel of darkness. He was sick of it all as clear tears streamed down his eyes—down his cheeks—and plopped into the scarlet sea beneath him. The tears were consumed by the blood, assimilated with it and became red. Red…he was so sick of it…_

_Through his lips in the house of a God he did not worship, Illumi spoke blasphemy against his own blood. "I don't want to kill anymore." _

_The chapel shook, the sea of blood rippled from the force and Illumi knew he would pay for that spoken sin._

_His air left his lungs._

_His family stood all around him. Their gazes downcast at him. _

_They heard what he said. And he was terrified. _

"_I didn't say that." Illumi's voice quivered. Covering the truth with a lie. "It wasn't me. I—" _

"_Illumi," the stone angel spoke. The corners of its gray lips crunched and cracked, and dust fell upon the sea of blood. Its voice was a haunting combination of his family's. Voices that weren't meant to be spoken together. It left an aching feeling inside of him, clawing in his chest. "We. Heard. You." _

_Tears swelled in Illumi's eyes. "No—No. It wasn't me. I DIDN'T SAY THAT—"_

"_You know better than to lie to us." _

"_I'm not lying!" _

"_We didn't raise you to lie to your own family." _

"_But I'm telling the truth—" _

"_We. Heard. Every. Word." The stone angel shouted. Echoes reverberated throughout its stone mouth. _

_Silva's voice rose above the rest, dominant and cold. He spat out the words like venom. "I didn't raise my heir to be so weak." _

_Kikyo's voice spoke next. She talked solely to her husband in a hushed tone as if Illumi couldn't hear them, but Illumi caught every word. "I knew something was wrong with him even before his birth. He wouldn't move inside of me," she shrieked and cupped her face in her hands. "I am a failure as a mother! How dare I bring a sickly child into our world!" _

_Zeno's voice cried out. Maniacally. "LET HIM DROWN!" _

_A whimper escaped Illumi's throat against his will. He reached out towards Silva, 'papa…help me.' _

_Silva narrowed his eyes—and turned away from his son._

_Something broke inside of Illumi and soon he was plunged into the abyss below him. Swallowed by the insidious color he has come so desperately to despise. _

_Even sinking down towards the unknown, he couldn't block out the sound of that heinous angel laughing. _

* * *

A glass teacup clicked against a silver tray.

Illumi bolted upright from bed and pulled a knife out from under his pillow. The sharp metal of the knife gleamed, and its reflection caught the image of a butler pouring tea. The butler, Gotoh, didn't seem to mind the young boy pointing a weapon at him as if it was a commonplace practice for a Zoldyck butler to be threatened by his master. It was.

Illumi's breath was ragged—he did not drop his knife when Gotoh placed the tea in front of Illumi. Illumi's eyes darted across the room in microseconds. Scanning everything and absorbing as much information as he could.

It was…It was just a nightmare. None of it was real. Illumi lifted his hands towards his throat, he could almost feel it throbbing as if he really was choking on blood in that dark dreamland.

He was in his own room, laying in his own bed while Gotoh was serving him tea. When Gotoh placed a saucer of sliced strawberries in front of him, Illumi finally put down his knife and took up the succulent berries. He was starving.

"What happened while I was out?" Illumi said in between bites.

Gotoh folded a white napkin and handed it to the boy. Illumi neglected to say his thanks, which Gotoh was used to. Zoldyck butlers were rarely thanked.

"There was a lodged piece of metal stuck in your thigh from an injury you acquired from your previous mission. Luckily you arrived home early enough before the infection could progress into a life threatening stage." Gotoh said this as if this too was commonplace.

Illumi munched on a berry. Well that was nothing new. Illumi's life was always being threatened. "I remember making it past the testing gates, but not into the manor…"

Gotoh placed the tea kettle back on the silver cart—ready to leave. "One of the butlers saw you collapse after you passed the testing gates and alerted me right away."

Illumi wrapped his fingers around the teacup, eyeing his own flection. He looked so tired…Does he always look this way? Drained of life. There were many plausible questions Illumi could ask next. How long has he been sleeping? Would the infection leave him confined to bed and for how long? How long must he be confined to his room, confined in these walls? Do his parents know about the disaster at the hotel? Were they furious with him…no…they wouldn't tell Gotoh nor would Gotoh have the audacity to pry on family matters or failed missions.

Illumi could have asked any question before Gotoh left him. Illumi bit the inside of his cheek and hesitated. Right when Gotoh was about to leave, Illumi's voice gained more power than he thought he was capable of possessing at the moment.

"Who?"

It was one word. One simple word. And still he felt his face flushing from uttering that one sound. As strange as it was, he wanted to know.

He wanted to know who that butler was, the one who found him unconsciousness and hurt.

Gotoh was halfway out of the room, but he turned around to answer. "It was a new recruit, a trainee. He found you."

"Oh." Illumi muttered. Disappointed that Gotoh didn't elaborate. He was hoping Gotoh would at least say the butler's name. He didn't the first time, so Illumi doubted he would say it at all. Plus, Illumi was embarrassed to ask. Instead he stared into his teacup, frowning.

Gotoh coughed, noticing Illumi's perplexed look. Illumi's ears perked up a little when the butler spoke again. Hoping for details. "The new recruits are currently in the evaluation stage. More than half the class will be dismissed by the end of the training period. If this butler did not please you, most likely he will be dropped. Does that ease your mind?"

Illumi blinked. That…that did not ease his mind at all! Did Gotoh think this butler upset Illumi in some way and wanted him ousted because of it? Sure, Illumi was bad at expressing his emotions, but he was simply…curious about this trainee butler. Nothing more. Illumi had nothing to be angry about over this butler…yet. Illumi turned his focus back to his cup of tea. "You may leave now."

Gotoh bowed and left. Leaving Illumi alone with a cup of tea and his thoughts lingering over the butler he wished he knew a little more about. Illumi's lips touched the cup and blew bubbles in the liquid, each popping and splattering on the honey colored surface. Irritated.

Gotoh could have at least told him the butler's name. That wouldn't have been hard to say. It wouldn't have _killed_ Gotoh.

Then again, anything in this manor could. Including Illumi.

* * *

There wasn't much to do when Illumi was resting in bed. Naturally, he was exempt from training (and torture) during recovery. Unfortunately, the only thing Illumi could do was burn time.

He flipped from channel to channel on the television. Mindlessly scrolling from one utterly uninteresting show to another. It didn't matter what channel he turned to, each had loonies of their own. Idiots to the 33rd degree. He momentarily stopped on a channel—a food eating contest—and watched a man scarf down one blueberry pie after another.

Illumi smirked when the man began to choke on the dry crust whilst reaching for a glass of milk to chug it all down.

Illumi frowned when the man huffed out a sigh of relief.

Illumi cursed. The pie-eating man lived.

How boring. And just when he thought the show was finally entertaining. Illumi shut the television off with a click of a button. The world was full of bumbling idiots and he didn't need to torture himself by watching them.

Torture comes in a variety of forms, but none could ever be so grueling than one in particular. One that made him want to pull his own hair out and end his suffering himself.

Homework.

Illumi was confined to his study, practicing conjugations of one Chinese verb after the other. As heir, it was his duty to not only master the art of assassination, but also the language of tongues. Communication between clients was key and it would prove beneficial if he could actaully talk back to them in conversations. How was he supposed to write ransom notes if his targets couldn't even read them? A good assassin was fluent in a multitude of languages. Therefore, so too Illumi.

Illumi stood up at the podium conjugating lists and lists and even more endless lists of verbs from his textbook. Apparently, verbs were everything in language. One cannot speak one sentence without a verb in it. Illumi detested conjugations and he detested learning them. Maybe he should just mime his threats instead. Killer clowns were popular in pop culture, but what of killer mimes—"

"OI!" His tutor barked at him, popping Illumi's thought bubble. "Focus, child. Your pronunciation isn't clear. I can't distinguish anything between all your mumbling. Enunciate. Enunciate. The key to pronunciation is enunciation," The tutor gestured grandly with his arms.

_You enunciate yourself_, Illumi thought, bitterly.

The man waved his arms, in defeat. "_Tsh_, start from the beginning and remember to e-nun-ci-ate."

There were so many things in life Illumi was forced to do against his will. He opened his mouth wider and pronounced each god forsaken verb slowly. Enunciating every roll lull of a vowel and harsh sounding consonant. Illumi wanted to do anything other than enunciate right now. Preferably, he wanted to shove his textbook up his tutor's—

A knock.

A knock was heard at the door, and a butler came in. Bowing. It was a young girl who wore the green gem on her bowtie—oh, she must have passed the evaluation period. That meant she was now an official Zoldyck butler. Illumi didn't know whether he should congratulate her or feel sorry for her.

Still bowing, the young girl spoke. "Your mother and father request your presence, master Illumi."

Illumi bit the inside of his cheek. He suddenly wished he could go back to enunciating verbs.

* * *

The room was silent.

Illumi sat still on the tatami mat, awaiting Silva and Kikyo to speak. Husband and wife sat side by side. Kikyo stroked her round belly, already 9 months pregnant. She was due to deliver her third baby any day now. Illumi gripped his knees and stared down the mat, mindlessly counting the individual threads woven into it. Dreading the doom that awaited him.

They didn't say anything, other than turn on the television. To a normal family, this gesture would have been inconsequential—nothing—maybe even imply a family movie night. But Illumi knew better.

It was the news. The sound of the anchor man speaking broke the silence of the room. Silva and Kikyo watched the news in silence. Illumi was expected to do the same, but in his gut, he already knew what the anchor man had to say. Illumi gripped his knees tighter. Listening in the midst of the dreadful news—

"—authorities are still trying to figure out how the fire at Condaever Castle started in the middle of the night. Historian hunters are lamenting over the loss of a national landmark to the burning flames that consumed one of a kind artefacts and texts only to be found within the castle. Countless casualties were recorded, and many lost their lives that night. Two witnesses, whilst walking down the staircase from dinner, said they saw a young boy covered in blood running away in the opposite direction where the fire began. Authorities believe this boy way be a potential suspect in the case and are in the midst of finding him in hopes of cracking down on this horrible tragedy—"

Crap. One failed mission later and Illumi was already a destroyer of history, arsonist, and wanted criminal. Illumi wished he knew how to disappear entirely and never be found. One look from both of his parents made him desperately wish he could do just that.

Silva sighed, miserably. He rubbed the bridge of his nose as if he could rub away all his worries that built up over the worries—many of which were caused by Illumi.

Fear crept up Illumi's throat, "It wasn't my fault, too many people saw me—"

Silva held up his hand and Illumi immediately stopped talking. It was as if Silva held Illumi's tongue in his hand and forbid him from utterly another stupid remark—Illumi almost felt relieved because nothing to come out of his mouth could save him at this point. He would only make things worse by making excuses.

Illumi gripped his knees tighter. He didn't realize his hands were shaking.

Silva growled, "you were supposed to remain hidden. Unseen. Unheard."

"I know—"

Silva let out a forced laugh. Then he gargled under his breath. "Yes, you've clearly proven that you know better. Well, do you?"

Illumi shuddered.

"Thought so." Silva sighed, looking off into the distance. "Witnesses saw you. _People_ saw you. You are now a link to your kill. You could have left fingerprints at the castle and it wouldn't have made a difference because you created a liability for yourself that you cannot take back."

"I didn't mean to set the castle on fire—"

"Neither did Lucifer mean to be cast out of heaven. It doesn't matter if you didn't mean to. It doesn't matter even if you meant to either. Your greatest mistake was not thinking rationally."

"But I was, there was no other way for me to escape—"

"Silence, you insolent child. You've interrupted me too many times already." Silva groaned. His eyes filled with unspeakable darkness than Illumi has ever seen from him. "You thought without reason. You thought without logic. You let panic and fear," Silva spat out the last word, how distasteful it felt on his tongue. "You let fear control your actions and let you to behave like a madman that put your life at risk, including your future. Mistakes like these put other's six feet below ground before they realized it themselves. I excused the faults you made in the past, the misfortune of an unskilled beginner, but now I see these mistakes have welded themselves into you like a blacksmith forging iron—the flaws became a part of you and can never be removed. What's done is done. The past cannot be unwritten. Your past mistakes follow your shadow and taint the performance of your future. All our futures."

Illumi's eyes began to burn. He blinked away the tears. He couldn't let them fall. Not now. Not in front of them.

Silva's voice was coarse as gravel. Merciless like winter's unrelenting cold. A siege of frost and ice. "What I saw out there was not the work of the heir whom I entrusted our family legacy to, but the repeated mistakes of a little child who still doesn't know any better than he did before. No better than yesterday or the day before that. Doubting that he'll know better tomorrow. You jeopardized not only yourself, but the whole family." Silva stood up and tread slowly towards Illumi. A piece of silver hair fell in front of Silva's eyes. Illumi was cast in the shadow of his father—Illumi shivered from the cold. "Above all, you were sloppy. I did not train you to be sloppy. Now did I, son?"

Illumi couldn't find the courage to speak. The tears were falling down his eyes now. He couldn't control their flow. The world was a blur and all he could do was simply shake his head, slowly.

Silva didn't need to say he was beyond disappointed in Illumi—he showed it with every fiber of his being. Illumi felt it down to his core.

Illumi was a sniveling mess of snot and tears. Crying.

Silva was not the type to counsel the broken hearted—nor did he have an interest in trying. Son or not. He dismissed his son so that he may have a private meeting with Kikyo. Illumi left in silence, overhearing his mother's words as he closed the sliding door.

Kikyo hushed in a low voice, "he keeps making the same mistakes…"

Silva was silent for a while, finally he spoke, "I know…maybe it would be best…"

On the other side of the room, Illumi leaned his head against the door. Listening. He could feel his heart beating wildly inside his chest.

"Maybe it would be for the best if Illumi is not my heir."

A strand of hair fell in front of Illumi's eyes. His eyes dilated in one rapid pulse. He felt his world crumbling for some time now, but now he truly felt it shatter at his feet. Too broken to be woven back together.

Illumi stumbled back once.

No. No. NO!

Being the Zoldyck heir was his birthright! He trained his entire life for that one role. He can't have it taken away from him—then what was the purpose of his training? What was the purpose of his suffering? What was the point of him withering in pain, bleeding in misery, screaming in agony and losing his mind?

Illumi fell backwards.

Tears welled his eyes.

That would mean he suffered all those years for nothing.

He lived, breathed, and slept in death for nothing!

Illumi got back on his feet—and ran.

Ran faster against the pain throbbing in his leg. Blood soaked through his bandages and stained the white cloth red. Red.

Red.

Red.

RED.

It was a color he detested. A color he despised.

And yet...it was his life…and he would not forsake it now. The color stained his hands, stained his skin, stained his very being.

No.

Illumi IS the heir.

What other purpose could he possibly have in life? Death—it was all he knew.

Illumi was a blur as he ran through the manor's forest. He crossed branches of pine and oaks of wood without them shivering from his speed. His heart thrashed inside his chest and he knew what he must do.

He unclenched his hand. Once. Twice. Thrice. Letting the claws project through his fingernails. He winced at the pain. To summon these claws…it was hard for him and Silva knew that. Illumi didn't possess the raw talent his father prayed for him to have, but…

Illumi's eyes harnessed the darkest of shadows and his steps harnessed the lightest of wind as he found his prey.

He will prove to his father…

Illumi saw one of the entry levels butlers with their white gems displaced around their necks—soon it be will bleed red. It was a young girl, but he didn't care who she is. He didn't care what her name is. He didn't care how she got here, why she wants to work here, or even how she got entangled with his family. No. She would help him prove to his parents that he is the rightful heir.

And for that he needs her heart.

A branch cracked.

The girl looked up.

The harbinger of death descended upon her. Bearing its claws towards her chest.

HE WILL PROVE THAT HE IS THE RIGHTFUL HEIR AND NO ONE CAN TAKE IT AWAY FROM HIM!

It was over before the girl knew she was dead.

Just as the girl's body dropped to the forest floor, so did Illumi's.

He held the heart in his hands. It was still beating.

Shadows descended upon his face. His grin was as sharp as a knife—as sharp as his claws that soon retracted. He croaked out a putrid sound. He began to laugh.

And laugh.

Louder.

Holding her still beating heart within his hands.

A tear rolled down his cheek.

Illumi proved it. He proved his father and mother wrong. He proved that he was capable of being the heir. Now all he has to do is show his parents the heart and they will forgive him.

Tears streamed down his eyes.

All will be right again. They will be proud of him. And they will love him again.

Illum ran his way back into the manor, hands covered with the color he detested. He ran with unadulterated excitement with the heart in his hands and threw open the door to his parent's study.

"MOTHER! FATHER! LOOK—"

Illumi's smile faltered.

Silva and Kikyo paid him no attention.

Kikyo's kimono was soaked with red. Red was dripping down her legs. She pressed a hand towards her round belly and cried out in pain while Silva barked for help as the butlers rushed into the room.

Kikyo was going into labor. Her third child was on its way.

And Illumi was forgotten. A common occurrence.

All eyes were on Kikyo as they ushered her to lie down and prepare for delivery.

Illumi walked out of the room. Past the butlers running by him. Past the manor doors and into the forest.

He gritted his teeth and screamed.

He threw the heart into the brushes and screamed as crows began to flock towards it. Picking apart red flesh.

The tears were hot. The tears were rolling. The tears just wouldn't stop.

"Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!" Illumi kicked his legs, flung his arms, and did everything a boy his age shouldn't be doing. "You're so stupid! As if you could change their minds!" Illumi kicked the air and tripped. He began punching the ground feverishly until his knuckles turned red.

Finally, he stopped when he was tired. Mindlessly patting the ground with his bloodied hand, mumbling 'stupid…stupid…'

The wind shifted and even though he was far away from the manor he could hear his mother scream. Even her screams were strong enough to penetrate walls. Illumi pushed himself up and walked away from the manor, away from the screams of his mother. No one was going to come out and check up on him. No one was going to come out and ask if he's okay. They've forgotten him…

And that made Illumi cry.

A ray of light pierced through the clouds and shined upon him. It was warm and he assumed it would have felt like a hug, that is if he knew what a hug felt like. But this light—he assumed his is what a hug would feel like.

Dead leaves crunched beneath his feet and he lifted his eyes towards the old oak tree that towered in front of him. Illumi's eyes softened.

He steadied his foot on a low branch and pulled himself up, climbing up the tree nestling himself in a fork between three branches. The bottom was laid out with leaves, some dead, others recently fallen. It was…comfortable.

Illumi wrapped his legs towards his chest and cried in the embrace of the old oak tree.

"Hey."

Illumi flinched from the voice. He thought he was alone. He looked down from the tree and saw the young butler with the white gem just at the collar of his neck. The butler who found him unconscious the other day. The butler whose name he wanted to know but was too embarrassed to ask Gotoh. It was the same boy who bore a crown of midnight on his head—jet black hair—and eyes that shined a radiant blue like a falling star. This boy was a living constellation one would search for in the endless night sky. But Illumi didn't have to search, for this boy made of dreams and wonder was standing right in front of him.

"Why are you crying?"

* * *

A/N: Thank you for reading chapter 4. I hope you liked it. What were favorite parts if any? This chapter was shorter and the style changed. I hope it turned out okay. Let me know what you thought please?


	5. Letter from the Author (hiatus)

Letter from the Author

This fic is now discontinued. There will be no more chapters/updates despite it being unfinished. This turned into a disappointing run rather than a fun one. Please don't use my OCs or reproduce this work anywhere. You can read the rest of Illumi and Oz in Among the Water Weeds, but that too will be discontinued at some point. Anyway, thank you for reading.

-Mars

...

edit:

I'm changing this fic to be on an (indefinite) hiatus. So I will update again, but i just don't know when lol Until then, you can still read Illumi and Oz in Among the Water Weeds, sorry!

-Mars


End file.
